


I Think I Might Push (my luck with you)

by LadySlytherin



Series: I Know My Love Can Be (the killing kind) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Mate Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Peter Hale, Anal Sex, BAMF Stiles, Consensual Underage Sex, Creeper Peter Hale, Gift Fic, Knotting, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mating, Mating Bond, Mating Rituals, Peter Hale as the Big Bad Wolf, Pierced Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 02, Rimming, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, Shifted Sex, Steter Secret Santa, Stiles Stilinski as Little Red Riding Hood, Stiles Stilinski is Sixteen Years Old, Sunnydale Syndrome, True Mates, Werewolf Culture, Werewolf Mates, Xenophilia, brief mention of MPreg, monster fucking, references to extreme underage sex that doesn't happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21886813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: "Don't play in the forest, Mścisław."Stiles had heard these oft-repeated words more times than he could count. They were his mother's favorite warning. But in the wake of her death, Stiles was reckless and ignored the warning. That was how he met Peter Hale.Peter knew, the moment he saw Stiles, that the boy was meant to be his. It was a question ofwhennotifand he knew it.Fate - in the form of Kate Argent - interceded, keeping them apart for years. Now, Peter is back. And he wants what's always been his.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: I Know My Love Can Be (the killing kind) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576630
Comments: 110
Kudos: 915
Collections: Steter Secret Santa 2019





	I Think I Might Push (my luck with you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yogibogeybox (Green)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/gifts).



> This is set post-S2. Everybody’s alive. Boyd and Erica didn’t run off. Jackson didn’t go to London. Allison and Scott are dating again; so are Lydia and Jackson. No Kira; no Malia. Off-screen alpha pack; no Darach; no Void. Everything else unfolds on-screen during the course of the story. ^_^
> 
> To My Pre-Readers - I want to thank you ladies _so much_ for all of the cheering and encouragement, and for catching my various typos, and for helping me make decisions. To the ones who are also in the Steter Discord with me, an additional thank you goes out for the assistance in gaining intel about what my giftee likes. You were invaluable to me, and I am so appreciative of everything you do. ❤️
> 
> To My Giftee - I know that Christmas can be a little rough for you. And I know that day-to-day stuff can be exhausting, and stressful, and draining. So I wanted to write you something extra-special. Something that would give you a little bit of an extra smile this holiday season. I hope I've succeeded with this story. I hope you like it, and that it's everything you hoped for in a gift. You deserve all the nice things, darling, and I'm so glad I've gotten to know you through the Discord. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
> 
> To my readers - I hope you enjoy this story as much as you've enjoyed my previous Steter fics. This is smuttier than anything I've written in years, and it's also my first time writing monster-fucking so I'm hoping I did okay with it. Comments are love and, as ever, I deeply appreciate every single one. I read them all, and I reply to them all, and they mean so much to me...so, if you like the story, pretty please leave me some love down below. ❤️
> 
> ~ Sly
> 
> P.S. - This fic contains a piece of art. I am not an artist, but I sometimes try. Please be kind to me; I have tender feelings when it comes to the stuff I draw.

_“Don’t play in the forest, Mścisław. It’s full of shadows and secrets, my little fawn. There is no safety there, between the towering trees. You’re far too sweet, and you aren’t strong enough to protect yourself. Not yet, anyway. The woods have always belonged to the wolves. Don’t play in the forest, Mścisław...or you will, too.”_

~*~*~*~

Stiles absorbed his mother’s words with wide-eyed wonder, as any young child would have. Any young child with a wild imagination, at least. He heeded her words quite well, never daring to enter the Preserve surrounding the town unless he was with her, or his father. And the funny thing was, he wasn’t _afraid._ Not of the woods, or the wolves his mother spoke of. But he trusted his mother, above all else, and while the Preserve felt like _home_ in a way he doubted he could ever make anyone properly understand, his mother’s insistence that he shouldn’t enter the woods alone was enough to make him obey. She had never, _ever_ lied to him, after all.

Then, when Stiles was not-quite past his ninth birthday, Claudia Stilinski died. And although Stiles had known his mother was sick - had overheard enough adult conversations, in fact, to understand that it wasn’t the kind of sick a person got better from - it still blindsided him. Because Claudia had been so lively that her death seemed impossible. She was full of laughter, and light, and more love than anyone else Stiles had ever met.

When she walked in the forest with her young son at her side, she did so with bare feet, the hem of her long peasant skirt flirting around her ankles and a belly-baring tank top revealing pale, mole-dotted skin to the forest’s dappled sunlight. She had flitted between the trees, telling Stiles about the plants they passed or pointing out the signs of the various fauna that called the Preserve their home. She was always smiling, and often sang to herself, and Stiles thought he probably got more hugs each day than all the other kids in his class put together. Claudia would tell Stiles stories as they walked. Stories of magic, and wonder, and the special gifts their family had brought with them from _‘the_ _old country,’_ carried not in luggage but in their very blood.

Claudia’s death was like a physical blow. It shook the very foundation of Stiles’ world. Because his mother had been _magic,_ but she had still been taken from him. And Stiles...Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to live in a world where she didn’t exist.

So...he broke the rules.

~*~*~*~

The first time Peter Hale saw the boy, he’d just turned twenty-one. A rather auspicious birthday, as it meant he could legally drink...though, as a werewolf, that was fairly immaterial. Peter found the irony of the bar-crawl his fraternity brothers insisted on more annoying than amusing, but he’d humored them. And Talia - his older sister _and_ his alpha - had tacitly approved the outing. That was unsurprising, given how much she pressed the matter of _blending in._ Peter usually rolled his eyes when she started in on it, because he had never seen the point in pretending to be _less_ than what he truly was. Why fake being slow, or weak? It served no more purpose than pretending to be stupid would have. So long as he wasn’t sprouting fangs or claws and terrorizing the humans, Peter saw no harm in showing off. Just a little, anyway.

The thing was, as much as Peter loved his older sister - and he did; really - he found he’d never been one to spend much time with her. Or any of the pack, really. Even as a child, Peter had rarely engaged in much bonding behavior. In fact, the only pack member he even _liked_ most days was his nephew, Derek. The boy’s twin sister - Laura - was destined to be Talia’s heir, and Peter found her to be just a little too superior to be agreeable. The youngest of Talia’s children - Cora - was a sullen, pouty little thing who tried Peter’s - admittedly limited - patience quite fiercely. But Derek was sweet, and friendly, and innocent in a way that made Peter simultaneously exasperated and fond while also worrying him nearly to death. Because someone could _so easily_ take advantage of his nephew’s soft heart. Peter tried to teach him to guard it better, but his lessons never seemed to stick.

Though, if they had, Peter had a feeling Derek would have stopped being his favorite. So really, maybe it was for the best that Derek stayed just the way he was.

But that separation from his pack - the distance he carefully cultivated around himself - was why he was walking through the Preserve, all alone. It was why he saw the boy at all.

Peter heard the boy long before he saw him, though it was unsurprising as the kid was making enough noise to wake the dead. Branches and sticks snapped and cracked. Leaves rustled. There was the exhausted sound of heavy breathing and a rapid heart rate, both of which Peter knew were most likely caused by overexertion.

He could have left, but the sound of a voice muttering imaginative obscenities stopped him. It was a _child’s_ voice. Younger than his teenage nephew, to be sure. Elementary school aged, if Peter had to hazard a guess, and there was no accompanying footsteps or heartbeat to suggest the little boy had an adult escort. Peter wondered if the kid was lost. So he stayed where he was, just slightly off the path he was certain the boy was following. Not that it was much of a path; not this far into the forest, anyway. It amazed him that a child could have wandered so far off course.

When the boy stepped into view, Peter felt... _strange._ He was a thin little boy. Not slender, or even skinny, but _thin._ As though he had recently shot up an inch or two without putting on any of the necessary weight, stretching his flesh across his growing bones until it seemed like that was all he was: a still-growing skeleton covered with skin. It made him wonder if the child was eating properly, because surely it wasn’t normal for a human child to look so... _frail._ Not unless they were ill, or not being cared for.

With growing concern, Peter took in the rest of the boy. His clothes were just a _touch_ too small, the hem of his khakis baring his ankles and the sleeves of his red hoodie not-quite reaching his delicate wrists. They also looked a bit dirty; a bit worn. The boy’s gamine little face - sweet, and sharp, and almost unnaturally beautiful - was dirty as well. What Peter could see of the boy’s pale skin was dotted in moles...and covered with a thin layer of dust. His brown hair was too long, falling into eyes that seemed too big for his little-boy face, and Peter found himself taking an unintentional step closer.

Something in the movement drew the boy’s attention. His head snapped to the side, whip-quick, and Peter found himself caught by eyes the color of whiskey and far more potent, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now. The wind suddenly shifted and Peter caught the boy’s scent at last.

And damn if it didn’t almost knock Peter over, because this boy - this unknown child wandering through Hale territory so presumptuously - smelled like _home._ And Peter was more than old enough to know _exactly_ what that meant.

This adorable little boy was Peter’s mate.

And maybe it should have irritated him, that the boy was so young. That Peter was going to have to wait a number of years for him to grow up, so he could _do something_ about it. But somehow, breathing in the boy’s intoxicating and soothing scent, all he could feel was gratitude and pride that this boy would one day be his. He could be patient, after all, when it was called for. And Beacon Hills was a small enough town that it would be no trouble at all for Peter to keep an eye on the boy as he grew; to watch over and protect him until the time was right.

For the moment, he met the child’s eyes and waited, wondering idly what the boy’s fear would smell like.

He didn’t get to find out.

The little boy took him in, eyes shrewd and calculating, but that thin little body didn’t tense up in fear. His scent stayed as it was: sweet, and young, and just a little sharp around the edges with the boy’s annoyance. His full, petal-pink lips were pursed into an adorable pout and those whiskey eyes were bright and cool and completely unafraid. Peter marveled at it a bit; that a child who looked so small and breakable could be so fearless. Then, the boy seemed to make a decision. He turned from Peter, dismissing him in an instant, and continued stomping up the path.

Curious, Peter called out. “Child, are you lost?”

“No.”

The boy’s soft, high voice was firm and he hadn’t bothered looking back at Peter when he answered, all of his attention focused on the narrow, half-overgrown trail he was following.

Peter stepped out onto it behind him, then fell into step with the boy a moment later. The boy ignored him, so Peter asked. “Are you certain?”

The boy huffed in annoyance, shooting Peter a cross look from under impossibly long eyelashes, and snapped “Of course I’m sure. I think I’d know if I was lost.” Then, sticking his cute little upturned nose in the air, he added snidely. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. Leave me alone.”

Peter hummed consideringly, but continued walking beside the boy. He couldn't seem to stop looking at him, nor could he bring himself to leave the child - _his mate_ \- unaccompanied in the Preserve. “I doubt you’re supposed to be out in the woods, either.” Peter pointed out, because other than members of his family, he’d never known _any_ child who was allowed to wander the Preserve by themselves. “Not unattended, at least. Which begs the question, what has you wandering about out here, all alone?”

The boy’s lower lip wobbled, just a bit, and the unpleasantly sharp aromas of _grief_ and _loss_ and _unhappiness_ flooded through his previously sweet, lush scent. But then his mouth pinched tight and his chin came up and he said coolly. “What I do is none of your business, mister. And my dad’s a deputy, so you should go away before I tell him you’re bothering kids.”

Peter’s eyebrows winged up, because the threat wasn’t an idle one. The child’s heart was speedy with the exertion of his hike, but steady and true nonetheless. He meant every word. And it was a good threat, too, as a twenty-one year old man harassing children was certainly not acceptable behavior. Peter had no desire to invoke the wrath of the cop-parent of his mate, either. But there was a flaw to the boy’s logic and Peter was swift to point it out.

“You could certainly attempt to.” He agreed easily. When the boy glanced at him from the corner of his eye, Peter smirked and added. “Though as you don’t know my identity, that might prove rather difficult.”

“You’re Peter Hale.” The boy retorted, and Peter half-stumbled with his next step, because how the _hell_ did this child know him? Lips curving up in amusement and eyes gleaming with laughter, the child answered the question Peter hadn't yet asked. “Cora’s in my class.”

Peter laughed out loud, delighted. His mate was clever, and precocious, and enchanting. “Which means I’m not actually a stranger, so it’s perfectly alright for me to talk to you.” He pointed out. It earned him a shrug, but Peter took it as acceptance. “What’s your name?”

“Stiles.” The boy replied, huffing a little for air as the trail grew steeper, winding its way up an incline. “Stiles Stilinski.”

Peter winced, because Beacon Hills was a small town and Stiles was, as he’d said, in Cora’s class, which meant he had heard about the tragedy the Stilinskis had suffered so recently. The boy’s mother was dead - taken by some awful human disease that had stolen her from her husband and child by increments; by degrees - and his father was a deputy that the local gossips said had taken to drinking just a _little_ too much in the month since his wife passed. Peter considered Stiles’ dirty clothes, and his too-long hair, and the way he seemed far too thin. He thought about Claudia Stilinski’s months-long illness and eventual death...and Noah Stilinski’s work, and his drinking. It was no wonder Stiles looked like he wasn’t getting proper care.

He wondered when the last time the boy had had a proper meal was. Thought about all of the dangers lurking in the forest and how easy it would be for Stiles to get lost, or hurt, or simply disappear. Wondered how long it would take before Stiles’ father noticed his son was missing...and how much longer before he would think to look for him in the Preserve. Hours, at least. Maybe days, depending on his work schedule and if the school alerted him to Stiles being absent. It was an infuriating thought. Peter turned his head, staring off into the trees for a moment because he wasn’t sure how in-control he was and he didn’t want to frighten Stiles by flashing his eyes. And besides, it wasn’t his mate he was angry with.

There was silence for a little while as they walked along. Then, when Peter felt he’d regained some measure of composure, he offered softly. “My condolences, for your mother.”

Stiles jerked one thin shoulder in a half-shrug, his words coming out flat when he said. “Nothing to be sorry for. It’s not like _you_ killed her.”

“I don’t have to be guilty to feel remorse.” Peter explained, thrilled at how intelligent Stiles clearly was. He had yet to ask Peter to explain himself or rephrase anything, though Cora often had to when Peter wasn’t taking care not to speak above her level. “I simply have to understand your pain, and wish you weren’t feeling it.”

Stiles said nothing, so Peter changed the subject. “You still haven’t explained what you’re doing way out here.”

Stiles’ heartbeat stuttered, then the boy studied him for a long moment. Peter had no idea what he was searching for, so he simply waited. Finally, seeming satisfied, Stiles mumbled. “I’m looking for wolves.”

This time, rather than stumbling, Peter simply came to a dead stop. Stiles continued on for a few steps, before turning and meeting Peter’s eyes defiantly. “What?” He snapped, slender arms crossing over his narrow chest in a defensive way. “I can look for wolves if I want to!”

“You can.” Peter agreed, when he felt like he could breathe again. His voice was cautious as he added. “There are no wolves in California, though, so you’ll have to walk a very long way before you find one.”

Stiles gaped at him, then snapped his jaw shut with an audible _click_ before gritting out from between his teeth. “You’re _lying._ I’ve seen wolf tracks out here lots of times before.”

And while that was possible - Talia certainly wandered all over the Preserve in her full-shift - it wasn’t as though she’d ever let Stiles, or anyone else, see her that way. Not unless they were supernaturally inclined themselves, anyway. So, Peter deflected. “We have some coyotes, and it can be easy to confuse the two tracks. But there aren’t any wolves in California. Not for about eighty years now.”

Suddenly, Stiles burst into tears. And Peter...

Well, Peter felt like an ass.

Swearing under his breath, Peter scooped Stiles up into his arms. He carried the boy a little ways off the trail, then sat with his back against a large tree. He settled Stiles onto his lap, shushing him softly and rubbing soothing circles over the boy’s back. He had assumed that Stiles was simply interested in tracking - or perhaps in wolves - and would be disappointed or annoyed by learning there were none in the area. He hadn't expected this _devastation._ Stiles’ scent had gone sour and desolate, grief and anger and misery overlapping each other in a noxious sort of cloud. Peter ached for his mate and regretted dashing the boy’s hopes, though he wasn’t sure why the hell Stiles had reacted this way.

Finally, Stiles’ sobs quieted into hiccoughs and shuddering breaths, though it took a long time. He continued petting the boy; offering soft, comforting touches. After several more minutes, he dared to ask. “Why were you so set on finding a wolf?”

Stiles hiccoughed again, then answered quietly. “My mom. She said...” He yawned, clearly having tired himself out with his crying. His heartbeat slowed and his breathing deepened and Peter could tell he was on the edge of sleep.

“What did your mother say?”

Stiles mumbled his answer, already most of the way unconscious, but Peter caught a few of the words. _Mom_ and _woods_ and _wolves_ and _theirs._ None of which made a lick of sense. Peter shook his head, pushing Stiles’ sleepy, childish babble out of his mind. It didn’t matter much why Stiles thought there were wolves in the Preserve. What mattered was that, by correcting him and ensuring Stiles had no further reason for exploring the forest, Peter had protected the boy from the things that _did_ call the Preserve their home. Now...now he just had to address the issue of Stiles’ unsatisfactory care.

With that thought in mind, he cradled Stiles’ sleeping form against his chest and rose, heading through the trees towards his family’s home. He would drive Stiles into town - to his father, who was no doubt at the sheriff’s station - and make it perfectly clear that if Noah didn’t start taking better care of his son, Peter would do whatever was necessary to see that Stiles received the proper care...even if it meant convincing a court to take Stiles from his father. Peter doubted it would come to that. Noah wasn’t a bad man, after all; he was just grief-stricken.

Peter would keep an eye on Stiles, though. He would give the boy time - and space - to grow up a bit more, because it was the right thing to do...but he would watch. He would _protect._ And, when his mate was a little older, Peter would _claim._

~*~*~*~

As Stiles grew up, he slowly forgot about the wolves his mother said roamed the Preserve. In truth, he forgot a lot of things. He forgot about the day he met Peter Hale, and sobbed in the man’s arms because there were no wolves in California. He forgot the warnings his mother had given him, about not playing in the woods. He forgot the stories she had told, about old-world magic and bloodlines and power. He forgot, in the way that children always forget such things. Relegated them to _childhood fancy_ and _fairy tales_ and _make-believe,_ because that was what growing up meant.

By the time Stiles remembered...

It was too late.

~*~*~*~

_**Junior Year: Two Weeks to Halloween** _

“It’s _ironic,_ Stiles.”

Stiles snorted, rolling his eyes at his best friend. “Pretty sure it’s _obvious,_ which makes it the opposite of ironic, actually. And it’s dumb.” He closed his locker, leveling Scott with an utterly unamused - and equally unimpressed - stare. “I’m not doing it.”

“Oh come on...” Scott pouted, giving Stiles his best puppy-eyes look. Stiles wished it wasn’t so goddamn effective. “Allison and Lydia are on board.”

“Because they’re girls, and because they’re dating you and Jackson respectively, and because they know they’re definitely going to have everyone drooling over them.” Stiles snarked. “What the hell do _I_ get out of it?”

“But you’re a part of the pack.” Scott pleaded. “And the whole point of a _themed pack costume_ is that we _all_ do it.”

Stiles really wanted to scream. Partly because Scott wasn’t listening and it was irritating as fuck when he was ignored. Partly because _Scott_ hadn't even been an official member of Derek Hale’s ragtag little pack until a couple of months ago and now he acted like he was some sort of _pack advocate_ for bonding and shit. And mostly because this was the stupidest, most cliche idea the pack had ever come up with and Stiles wanted _no part of it._

Which was irrelevant, because Stiles hadn't been able to deny Scott anything since the day they became friends, way back in elementary school. So he was _going_ to do it; he knew that. And that sort of made him want to scream, too. Because he knew he was protesting to no avail, and so did Scott, and it was all just a big show. And Stiles actually hated the wasted effort and energy that went hand-in-hand with protesting something he knew he was going to wind up giving in about, so he decided to just...stop.

“Fine.” He glared at Scott even as he gave his agreement. “But I get to design it myself. I’m not putting on a dress just so I _match_ Lydia and Allison, are we clear? If I’m doing this, it’s on _my_ terms, Scotty.”

Scott held up his hands in a show of peace. “Okay, cool. Whatever. Just so long as it’s obvious what you’re supposed to be, you can wear whatever you want.”

Stiles grumbled the rest of the way to his jeep, but inside he was smiling. _Just a little._ Because yes, he thought it was a stupid idea. But he was _pack,_ and that meant he was going to get to spend Halloween with a group of gorgeous, amazing people who happened to be his friends. It was kind of cool, actually. Because a year ago, Stiles had been _nobody._ And this year, his friend group included Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore. And yeah, maybe Stiles still wanted to punch Jackson in the face a couple of times a month, but they _were_ friends. So Stiles would wear the stupid costume, and he would snark about it the whole time because it was expected, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have traded this for anything.

~*~*~*~

_**Mischief Night** _

Peter let himself into Derek’s loft, raising an eyebrow when his nephew growled at him. “Now, now, Derek...is that any way to treat your favorite uncle?”

“You’re my _only_ uncle.” Derek snapped, eyes flaring red as he scented the air. “Where did you fuck off to for the last six months, and why the hell do you smell different?”

Peter grinned, his own eyes burning red and causing Derek to take a startled step back. “I had things to do, Derek. Important things. But I’m home now, so why don’t you show me a little bit of courtesy and hospitality? I come bearing gifts, after all.”

Derek growled again, low and dangerous, even as his body shifted into a defensive position. “Don’t make me kill you again, Peter.”

Peter snorted, rolling his eyes. He ignored the fighting stance Derek was still in and strolled over to the couch, sitting down as though he had all the time in the world. These days, he _did._ “Sit down, Derek. And while you’re at it, stop acting like a child. I’m not here to challenge you, or steal your little pack. I’ll take a piece of the territory, as it’s mine by blood as much as it’s yours, but we’ll draw up lines peacefully and - as we’re family - it won’t matter if we cross boundary lines in the ordinary course of things.”

“You killed again.” Derek said, fury lacing the words as he stomped over to the couch. He didn’t sit, instead looming over his uncle with a scowl. “You _promised_ that was over, then you just...you just _vanished_ and did it anyway!”

Peter felt regret flood through him, and he gave his nephew an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I killed only the person it was necessary to kill, in order to eliminate a threat. An old...I won’t say _enemy,_ not precisely, but an old _acquaintance_ of myself and your mother was heading back this way, determined to wreak havoc on our little town. I couldn't have that, now could I? Becoming an alpha again was a pleasant by-product of taking care of the situation, but it wasn’t my goal.”

Derek stared at him for a long moment, then finally nodded tersely. “Fine.” He sat at last, though it was on a chair rather than beside Peter on the couch. Peter figured that was fair. “You said you had gifts. Do I even want to know?”

“Yes.” Peter said sincerely. “She’s currently showering at my place - she was a mess and I wasn’t letting you see her like that - but I gave her your address and she shouldn’t be too far behind me. I imagine she’ll want to eat, so we’ll no doubt have to order something when she gets here.”

“Who?”

Peter took a measured breath, met his nephew’s eyes, and offered. “Cora.”

Derek reeled back in his seat, pain and grief showing for an instant before being overrun by pure rage. “Cora is _dead.”_

“Apparently not.” Peter said dryly. “She was being held captive by Deucalion - the threat I mentioned taking care of - and he planned to use her as leverage against you. Against _us._ She’s alive and well, Derek. As well as can be expected, anyway, given everything she’s been through. She’s a little malnourished, and she hides how scared and frail she is behind the same rough facade _you_ use, but that’s alright. She’ll recover, now that she’s home and with family again.”

Derek suddenly looked like he might cry. When he spoke, his voice was strangled and tight. “It...it’s really her? Cora? She...she’s _really_ alive?”

“She’ll be here shortly.” Peter promised. “And I’m certain it will be a tearful, emotional mess of a reunion. So, in the meantime, tell me what I missed while I was away. How is your delightful little band of misfits fairing?”

He watched as his nephew reined in his emotions and hated that, during his coma, Derek had finally learned all the lessons Peter had tried to teach him when he was growing up. But it was okay, because Derek had a pack now, and his sister. He had _Peter,_ who would help keep Beacon Hills safe as another Hale alpha. And Peter would help Derek learn to be soft again. He would help his nephew _heal._ That was what pack did, after all. And while Peter and Derek would in no way be co-alphas of the same pack, they were still family; still blood; still _Hales._ And Hales were _pack,_ no matter what else they might be.

As Derek began explaining about the pack’s current dynamics - and, indeed, their Halloween plans for the next night - Peter smirked to himself.

He was home. He was an alpha. And now... _it was time._

~*~*~*~

Stiles did his best to ignore Allison and Lydia, and their demands for information about his costume over lunch.

“Oh come on, Stiles...” Allison gave him her patented Disney Princess smile. “We just want to know what it looks like.”

“And you will.” Stiles said simply. _“Tonight.”_

Lydia huffed in annoyance, rolling her eyes even as she checked her makeup in a compact mirror. “I still say you should have conferred with us.”

Stiles shrugged. “Why? I’m not a girl, and I understand the theme just fine. It’s not like we’re going to be in identical costumes or anything.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if Stiles showed up tonight in something completely unrelated.” Erica said with a red-slicked grin from the other side of the table. “It’s _just_ the sort of underhanded thing he’d do, you know?”

“What? No!” Scott looked up from his lunch, horrified. “Stiles, you _promised!”_

“Untwist your panties, Scotty-boy.” Stiles was fairly sure he was going to roll his eyes so hard one day that they got stuck facing the inside of his skull, and it would be all Scott’s fault. “Erica’s projecting. She desperately wants to dress as something sexy and she’s annoyed that the human girls of our group get to do so rather than her.”

“You underestimate me if you think I didn’t find a way to make my costume sexy.” Erica teased back, leering at him in an over-the-top manner. “I’d be hot dressed as a sack of potatoes and you damn well know it, Stilinski.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, raking his eyes over her in return and making her laugh delightedly, before he smirked and agreed. “Fair enough, Catwoman. Fair enough.”

During their little exchange, Scott had turned to earnestly explain to Allison about how he wanted everything to go _exactly perfect_ for their Halloween party that night. Stiles rolled his eyes and ignored his best friend. Scott was a puppy - in both the best and worst ways - and Stiles loved him dearly, but _honestly,_ enough was enough sometimes. The whole _Pack Party_ was one thing; the themed costumes was another level of cheese altogether. But Stiles was also absurdly grateful Scott had _finally_ integrated into Derek’s pack, so he’d put up with the _pack bonding_ crap Scott forced on him, no matter how stupid it was.

The funny part was, while Stiles had initially bonded with Erica and Derek and then pushed for Scott to join the alpha’s pack, these days, Scott was far more a part of the pack than Stiles had _ever_ been. Hell, _Lydia and Allison_ were more a part of Derek’s pack than Stiles was. And it wasn’t that they didn’t include him. They did, absolutely. It was just that, sometime in the last month or so, Stiles had started to feel... _separate._

Connected to the pack, sure. But not _actually_ pack. It was as though he were somehow suddenly pack-adjacent, instead. He wasn’t sure if Derek felt it, too - the shift in their dynamic - but he thought the alpha probably did. He’d certainly noticed Broody McSourwolf giving him the _Eyebrows of DoomTM_ on more than one occasion. It was a look that could mean a lot of things, of course, but Stiles was pretty sure that - in this instance - it was Derek trying to figure out what, exactly, had changed. Stiles had sort of hoped the alpha would figure it out and then fill _him_ in, because he was just as confused.

Still, until or unless Derek officially told Stiles he was _not_ a member of the pack, Stiles was going to continue along as though he _was._

Hence, the damn costume.

~*~*~*~

Peter knew that seeing Stiles again would hit him hard. He knew that after six months of (admittedly, self-enforced) separation from his young mate, and with himself newly minted as an alpha once more, it would be nearly impossible to restrain himself. He’d barely managed to refrain from claiming Stiles every time he’d been around the teen since he woke up from his coma. Now that he was in a slightly more stable position, it would only be harder to resist. Because Stiles was brave, and fierce, and wildly unpredictable. He was stronger than any human Peter had ever met, and morally ambiguous when the situation called for it. He was just as impossibly beautiful as Peter had known he would be, back when he was just a child and they’d met for the first time.

It made Peter a little grateful for his coma, actually. Just a _little,_ mind you, but still. Because Peter knew himself, and he was... _not nice._ He’d always felt _evil_ was a little too strong of a word, of course, but he certainly wasn’t _good._ He wasn’t even _neutral,_ if he was being completely honest. And he couldn't say for certain that he’d have been able to leave Stiles alone while he grew up. Oh, Talia would have urged him to, of course. She’d have reminded him that his young mate was human, and the son of the sheriff, and Peter would have _tried,_ because he would never have wanted Stiles to be afraid of him.

But he doubted he’d have managed to restrain himself for very long.

As soon as Stiles reached an age where his scent ripened - where he smelled like even the _littlest bit_ of adult things, like _lust_ and _arousal_ \- it would have been game over. Peter knew himself well enough to know that, and to be okay with it. He’d made his peace with who he was a long time ago, after all. There was no sense in crying about it at this juncture. So yes, Peter was just the tiniest bit grateful for his coma, as it meant Stiles had remained untouched until he made it to...well, not quite to _adulthood,_ as the boy was only sixteen yet. But closer to being grown than he would have otherwise been, that was certain.

Peter liked to think he would have at least waited for the boy to reach his teens before claiming him, but it was really only speculation on his part. He supposed it didn’t matter much, now. Stiles was sixteen, and Peter had been patient for long enough.

He knew - long before Stiles entered Derek’s building and joined the party - that he would likely lose control the moment he saw Stiles. He knew the odds of him claiming Stiles before the sun rose again were _very high._

And still, seeing Stiles again...

 _Christ,_ but this boy would be the death of him.

Peter couldn't even be annoyed about that fact. His mate was _perfect._

Derek had told him, of course, that the whole pack was doing a _themed group costume._ All of the weres were dressed as wolves, though Peter had seen quite a variety amongst the pack members he’d already spotted. Derek, for instance, had simply let out his fangs and claws. Isaac was wearing wolf ears and a wolf tail, but otherwise looked normal. Boyd had gone for the classic monster-movie wolf-man costume, which was actually sort of hilarious. Erica was wearing a white crop-top that read _WEREWOLF_ in big black block letters, and a pair of shredded black jeans, and - like her alpha - had dropped fang and claws. Her eyes were mostly beta gold, too, though she couldn't quite hold that part of her shift continuously and it slipped every so often. She, like Isaac, also had on wolf ears and a tail. Honestly, Peter thought he liked her costume best, though he hadn't yet managed to spot Jackson or Scott and therefore couldn't say for sure.

The _human_ subsection of Derek’s little pack was, of course, relegated to _Little Red Riding Hood_ status, which Peter thought was dreadfully cliche.

Allison Argent looked very much like the classic fairy tale version, with her long, dark hair and full-length cloak, though the costume’s red skirt only reached her knees. She’d also secured a quiver of arrows to her back and had miniature bow that appeared homemade held in one hand. They looked like costume props, but Peter was willing to bet anything that the little huntress’ weapon was fully functional. Lydia had gone the _sexy_ route with her costume, though that didn’t surprise Peter in the least. She was fierce, and proud, and he’d have expected nothing less from her. Her ruffled skirt and petticoats barely covered the tops of her thighs, and the corseted bodice emphasized her enticing curves. The goodie basket looped over one arm no doubt held an arsenal of makeup and hair products, but Peter wouldn’t have been surprised to find a weapon or two in there as well. Not that he was planning to sneak into her basket for a peek or anything. He was just...supposing.

Still, neither girl - lovely though they were - held a candle to Stiles.

And Peter wasn’t the only one gaping at the teenager when he entered the party. It seemed like the pack collectively held their breaths the moment he walked in, taking in the costume.

Peter, for his part, was also cataloguing the changes to Stiles since the last time he’d seen him.

Gone was the buzzcut hair. Instead, Stiles had artfully tousled, slightly-spiky hair that looked just long enough to get a good grip on, if one was so inclined. He’d filled out a little, too, in Peter’s absence. His shoulders were a little broader, he’d shot up another couple of inches, and he’d put on enough muscle to make a difference. In short, he looked far less like a _kid_ and a hell of a lot more like someone Peter could fuck without feeling guilty. His long, toned legs were encased in skin-tight leather (pleather? Peter wasn’t close enough to be certain) pants that were a light, fawn color. Two dark brown leather straps with shiny gold buckles encircled each of Stiles’ thighs. He had on the sort of boots Peter would’ve expected to see in a mosh pit; black, with straps running up the length of them, with gleaming rivets and buckles decorating them.

His upper body was covered by the most delightfully imaginative _Little Red Riding Hood_ outfit Peter had ever seen. He had on a tunic-type black shirt, though the long sleeves were white. It had a built-in red hood, and a red cape that fanned down over his left shoulder and spanned across those surprisingly wide shoulders at the back, falling to just past his knees. The hood and the left shoulder where the cape attached were decorated with gold trim, and a glimpse of red fabric was visible under the open neck of the black tunic. And there, around Stiles’ slim waist, was a stretch of fabric halfway between a sash and a cumberbund. The fabric itself was red with two thin gold stripes, and emblazoned in the center of it was a black triskelion. And the sight of that - of his family’s symbol - sent Peter’s instinct to claim into overdrive.

Because there were currently _two_ Hale alphas who could claim that symbol as theirs, and Peter suddenly - _desperately -_ wanted to ensure that Stiles understood _exactly_ who he belonged to. He _hated_ the idea of Stiles being in Derek’s pack, even temporarily. Because Stiles was his. Had _been_ his, since that long ago day in the woods when the little boy had been searching for wolves he’d had no way of understanding way back then. Though now, knowing Stiles as he did, Peter wondered if perhaps he’d been underestimating Stiles at the time. Wondered if the child might have surprised him, had Peter told him the truth right then and there.

Shaking his head to clear the thought - it hardly mattered, all these years later - Peter stealthily moved through the crowded party, closer to Stiles. The teen was heading for the kitchen, and Peter figured that was practically perfect for their first face-to-face moment in months. A little more isolated; a little less crowded. A near-feral grin curving his lips, Peter stalked his own, personal _Little Red_ into the kitchen.

[ ](https://ibb.co/M7w0N5F)

Stiles stretched up on his toes to reach the topmost shelf in Derek’s stupidly high kitchen cabinets, grumbling because the alpha was _not_ taller than him, so they were completely impractical. He smiled a little to himself at the thought that maybe Derek had a step-stool tucked away somewhere, then made a soft sound of victory as his fingers closed around the bag of chips he’d _known_ was tucked away up there. He was the only one who ate Sweet Chili Doritos, so he knew there were none on the snack table, and the hell if he was going to settle for original or Cool Ranch if he didn’t have to. As he dropped back down from his tiptoe-position, a wall of heat was suddenly pressed all along his back.

Normally, that sort of invasion of his personal space would have made Stiles stiffen and snarl, but something about it felt... _different._ Strangely comforting, and not at all threatening. Despite being pinned against the counter and having no idea who was behind him, Stiles felt _safe._ And since he was learning to trust the magic in his blood - the magic his mother had told him stories about as a child, and which he’d forgotten about in the years after her death, until Deaton had encouraged him to try to harness it - Stiles simply went still and waited, certain that the person who was behind him was friend rather than foe.

A deep, rumbling growl sounded in his ear, and Stiles hummed consideringly, tone low and teasing as he said. “And which Big Bad Wolf are you, then?”

Another growl, then a voice he hadn't heard in _months_ said. “The only one that matters, of course. I missed you, Stiles. Did you miss me?”

Stiles wondered for a moment what the hell it meant that his magic apparently deemed _Peter Hale,_ of all people, safe. Except...except once he’d started working with his magic, he’d slowly remembered all of the times his mom had talked about it. The walks he’d taken through the Preserve, with her pointing out herbs and trees and explaining how they could be used. The stories she had told, of the _old magic_ carried in their blood when their family crossed the ocean to America, and of _the wolves who own these woods._ He remembered, too, the day he’d gone looked for those wolves, after his mom died.

Stiles wasn’t sure he’d been suicidal - wasn’t sure he, at that young age, had fully understood the dangers inherent in seeking out wild wolves - but he knew he’d been reckless, and fearless. Uncaring if he got hurt. Though he wasn’t convinced that his younger self thought he _would_ be hurt. He remembered now, his mother’s words of caution, repeated in a hundred different ways over the years but the meaning behind them always the same.

_‘These woods are owned, Mścisław. This land belongs to the wolves who call it home. And if you are unguarded when you walk here - if you are not protected - then they will claim you, too.’_

He wondered, now, if his mother had known he would one day be a part of the werewolf pack. He wondered if she would have approved, or if she’d have cautioned him away from them. He wondered if she would have yelled at him, for not staying out of the woods. But the wolf he’d run into on that long ago day when he’d been drowning in grief and sorrow...Stiles remembered now that it had been Peter Hale. Peter, who had told him there were no wolves in California. Peter, who had held him while he sobbed out all of his pain and frustration. Peter, who had taken him back to his father. He had kept Stiles safe that day.

And true, there were things he had done since then that should probably have made Stiles wary of him. But his magic said Peter was safe, and Stiles had been learning to trust that part of himself. It knew things he didn’t, after all.

So he didn’t stiffen, or jerk away, or use his new power to throw Peter across the room. Instead, he shrugged and mused casually. “I dunno. I mean, I noticed you were gone, but I’m not sure that’s the same thing as _missing_ you.”

Peter rumbled in his ear again, the sound a little more dangerous this time, and Stiles snickered. “I didn’t hurt your feelings there, did I, Big Bad?”

“My ego will survive, I’m sure.” Peter drawled, and Stiles laughed a little louder.

The werewolf eased away from him and Stiles turned at last, raising an eyebrow at Peter as he took in the older man. He was wearing black leather pants that clung to his well-muscled thighs, and black biker boots. He had on a white v-neck t-shirt, with a black leather jacket topping it off. His claws were out, as were his fangs, and Stiles was a little surprised Peter hadn't been lisping around them a moment ago. Still, as far as costumes went, it wasn’t very impressive and Stiles couldn't quite resist the urge to say as much.

“Seriously? You couldn't have found something better to wear?”

Peter grinned around his fangs, turning to show Stiles the back of the jacket. It was embroidered in red and white and black, reading _‘Big Bad Wolf’_ in flowing cursive, a stylized triskelion stitched under the words.

“Cute.” Stiles deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “That’s really the best you could do, though? ‘Cause I gotta say, I’m a little underwhelmed.”

“I had a single day’s notice.” Peter offered, amusement lacing the words. “I’m afraid I was forced to work with what I already had.”

“Oh my god, you already owned that jacket?” Stiles laughed again, genuinely delighted. “Dude, that’s awesome. Why?”

Peter’s fangs vanished as his smile softened into something edged with sadness. “It was a gift from my sister. Talia found my sharp edges to be...amusing. _Endearing,_ even. She often poked fun at me for being, as she put it, _a walking cliche.”_

Stiles nodded, then noticed the way Peter couldn't seem to stop staring at him. Never one to keep silent when he had a question, Stiles asked. “What?”

Peter hesitated for a moment, then said. “You have piercings.”

“What?” Stiles blinked, then snorted. “Oh, yeah. Right. I guess that happened after you took off for places unknown. Yeah, no. I have...a lot of them, actually.” He gestured dismissively at his face, adding. “ I halfway forget about them sometimes, and everybody else is used to them. I plan to get more eventually.”

Stiles wondered now what Peter thought of them. Of the five slim gold hoops that hugged the lower curve of his left ear...or the long golden industrial bar that pierced two places on the upper curve of his right. Of the two golden balls adorning the piercing on the end of his left eyebrow. Of the twin gold hoops that pierced his lower lip, one slightly to each side of center, right where his lip was fullest. Wondered, too, in an absent sort of way, what Peter might think of the _other_ piercings he had; the barbell through the center of his tongue, and the one through the bottom of his navel. Not that it mattered, of course. It was just...idle curiosity.

When Peter spoke, his voice was soft and husky and dark. It sent a pleasant sort of shiver up Stiles’ spine. “They look good. _You_ look good.”

Stiles grinned, catching the ball of his tongue-stud between his teeth as he did so. It was a habit he’d picked up almost as soon as the piercing was healed, and he did it without thought, releasing it again when he spoke. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself, Peter. I guess you didn’t run into too much trouble during your time away, then.”

“Oh, a spot here and there...” Peter mused, and Stiles sucked in a stunned breath as the werewolf’s eyes burned red. In a low purr, he added. “But nothing I couldn't handle.”

“You’re an alpha.”

Stiles breathed the realization into the suddenly tense air between them. The logical part of his mind was screaming at him to _run, dammit._ Because teasing Peter Hale while he was a beta - and a powered-down one at that, as of the last time he’d seen the man - was one thing. Teasing an _alpha_ version of Peter Hale was something else entirely. It was courting trouble Stiles honestly wasn’t sure he could get himself out of; was dangerous in ways he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

But Stiles _magic..._ well now, that was another matter altogether.

Because his magic was reaching for Peter. _Straining_ towards him, in fact. Stiles could feel it stretching out from himself in greedy, grasping tendrils as though Peter was the only thing it had _ever_ wanted. And he thought of the warnings his mom had given him. Thought about the first time he’d disobeyed her, and the fact that the wolf who’d found him wandering Hale territory had been _Peter._ He thought about how he’d felt suddenly and inexplicably separate from Derek’s pack for the last month, and everything just...

_Clicked._

And Stiles...well. He’d done his homework, okay. As soon as Scott had gotten bit, he’d done the research. He’d read every bit of lore he could scrounge up on the internet. He’d watched more than a few documentaries about _actual_ wolves. He’d poured over the Argent bestiary, and the tomes he’d borrowed from Deaton, and the books Derek had pulled out of storage for him. Because Stiles was never one to do things by halves, and if he was going to run with wolves then he was going to understand them, too. Was going to make sure he knew everything he needed to know and a thousand things he _didn’t,_ just in case.

So he knew exactly what he was doing when he added breathlessly. “You’re _my_ alpha.”

Peter’s eyes burned brighter for a moment, then Stiles turned on his heel and _ran._ As he peeled out of the kitchen, he tossed a quick shot of magic over his shoulder. It wouldn’t stop the wolf - nothing but mountain ash would’ve been able to prevent Peter from following him and Stiles knew it - but it _would_ slow the alpha down. It would give Stiles something of a head start. He weaved his way through the crowded party as quickly as he could, his heart racing in his chest. He didn’t head for the main door - it would take too long that way - instead heading for Derek’s fire escape. He was outside in moments, and thundering noisily down the metal stairs seconds after that.

As he reached the ground and took off running across the parking lot, a howl sounded above his head. It was loud, and dangerous, and Stiles had to fight the urge to look back because if he _did,_ he was going to trip and he knew it. So instead, he laughed and called out. “Catch me if you can, Big Bad. If you can’t, you don’t deserve me.”

Then, he disappeared into the trees that marked the edge of the Preserve.

~*~*~*~

_“You’re an alpha.”_

The low, thready whisper hung in the air between them and Peter thrilled in it; in the fact that Stiles’ eyes were wide and his pulse was fast, but there was no fear in his scent. Stiles wasn’t afraid of him, even now.

And then, something shifted in Stiles’ expression. His eyes went a little rounder; his full lips parted in shock, and he added breathlessly. “You’re _my_ alpha.”

Everything in Peter lit up at the statement, his wolf baying in victory as it pressed against the edges of Peter’s control, desperate to get out. To get closer to Stiles. To _claim._ To make the thread of truth in Stiles’ words into a glaring, all-consuming reality. His whole body tensed up in thrilling anticipation as Stiles suddenly spun around and _ran._ Peter’s blood heated as the overwhelming desire to chase - _to hunt -_ surged through him. Just as he moved to follow his teenage mate, a shock of magic ran across his skin. The magic felt like Stiles, and Peter wondered when the hell Stiles had learned _magic,_ because Derek damn sure hadn't mentioned _that._

The spell made it feel like he was struggling through heavy, sticky molasses; as though the air around him had thickened suddenly. He struggled through it, _needing_ to follow Stiles. Part of him was snarling, infuriated that his mate had done this; had restrained him in a way that meant he couldn't immediately go after him. Another part was laughing and delighted, because his mate was _clever,_ damn it all. Stiles was smart enough to know he’d never outrun Peter, but - more than that - to know he’d never make it far enough for this to be a proper chase unless he got the upperhand early on and got a head start. So he’d used his magic - magic Peter hadn't realized he _had_ and so hadn't been prepared for - to slow Peter down. To give himself that head start.

It wasn’t much; Peter freed himself fairly quickly, then followed Stiles’ scent through the teeming mass of teenagers filling his nephew’s loft. It wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d have had otherwise. It was enough to impress Peter with the fact that he’d managed any sort of head start at all. He climbed out onto the fire escape and looked down, seeing the glowing red of Stiles’ hooded cape flowing out behind him as he sprinted across the parking lot several stories below, heading for the trees. For the Preserve. _For Hale territory._

Throwing his head back, Peter _howled._ The sound was a warning, and a threat, and a promise, all at the same time. He wondered if Stiles understood what the sound meant. _‘Run, little mate. Run as fast as you can, for you’re being hunted. Run, because once I catch you - and I **will** catch you - you’ll be mine. Forever.’_

As the sound echoed in the cool autumn air, he heard Stiles’ laughter and then his taunting words, thrown over his shoulder just before he disappeared into the treeline. _“Catch me if you can, Big Bad. If you can’t, you don’t deserve me.”_

Peter was certain, then, that Stiles _did_ understand. He understood what Peter wanted from him. He understood what he’d instigated by running. And he understood what would happen the moment Peter caught him. Grinning, Peter leisurely strolled down the metal stairs that formed the fire escape. He’d give Stiles the head start he’d earned...and a little more of one, besides. It would make no difference in the end. He _would_ catch the boy, that much was certain. He’d catch him, and claim him, and then...well, then they’d just have to see, wouldn’t they?

He crossed the parking lot in unhurried steps, pausing to toss his leather jacket into the trunk of his Ferrari as he passed. The keys he tucked under the front seat. He’d come back for the car later, when he was done with Stiles. Once he stepped through the trees, Peter slowly stripped. He folded his clothes and placed them on top of his shoes, tucked up against the trunk of a tree only a few feet into the forest. Then, rolling his neck and stretching briefly to settle himself, Peter murmured into the quiet of the Preserve.

“Ready or not, Stiles...here I come.”

He let the shift wash over him, reveling in the way it felt. The way fur sprouted all over his body, and how his bones shifted and cracked and popped as they twisted themselves into new shapes. He savored the way the air felt, moving through his new, elongated face; the way his nose twitched at the end of his muzzle, picking up Stiles’ scent. His ears pricked forward, his whole body on alert, as he let his massive body drop down to all fours. He could move upright, of course, but his goal right now was speed. And, for speed, this was better. He wasn’t a true wolf, the way his older sister and niece had been - though he imagined he _might_ master that shape, given enough time - but he was at least as much a wolf as he was a man, and he savored the feel of it. He had missed this, in the months between his resurrection and when he claimed alpha-status again.

Eyes burning red - easily able to see, despite the dark shadows of the forest - Peter took off at a run. He wasn’t going as fast as he could, but that was okay. He didn’t need to. It wasn’t _about_ that, not at all. It was about the thrill. The anticipation. The knowledge that his mate was running, yes, but not to escape. It was a form of play, really. Stiles _wanted_ to be caught, maybe almost as much as Peter wanted to catch him. And there was joy in that; in knowing that his mate understood his instincts to _chase_ and _hunt_ and _catch,_ and was willing to indulge Peter.

He could hear Stiles now, and Peter howled again. He could have been sneaky. Could have prowled alongside Stiles without the teen knowing how close he was, then pounced in a surprise attack. But he liked this better. Like the way Stiles’ breath caught at the back of his throat when he heard Peter’s howl. Liked the way Stiles’ heart raced a little faster when he heard Peter’s body crashing through the underbrush behind him. Peter used the sounds he was making to herd Stiles, just a little, to the left of where he’d been headed. Because Peter knew these woods, and he knew where he wanted things to end.

So when Stiles burst into a clearing, Peter was right behind him, stepping into the faint moonlight in all his monstrous glory.

Stiles whirled around, panting and flushed and trembling. Those big fawn eyes of his raked over Peter’s form, even as he kept taking hasty steps backwards; away from Peter. Peter growled, stalking closer, and Stiles tossed another spell at him. Peter roared, baring a muzzle full of dripping fangs even as he shook off the magic meant to slow him down. He did so with greater ease in this form than he had in his human shape, and it was clear that Stiles hadn't expected that from the way his eyes widened further. He yelped as he tripped over something - too busy watching Peter’s approach to be mindful of where he was stepping - and wound up on his ass. He scuttled backwards across dirt and long grass and crinkling, fallen leaves. His eyes never left Peter even as his thin chest rose and fell with each frantic breath he pulled in.

Stiles’ scent was heady. He smelled like rich, dark earth...and like green, growing things...and like the relief that rain brought to parched earth. He smelled like ozone - from his recent magic-use, no doubt - and it was like a sizzling hint of spice laced through the rest of it. He smelled warm, and safe, and _perfect._ And there was a special note to his scent as well. Something liquid-slick around the edge of everything else, that spoke of lust and need and desire. It called to Peter; made him want to sink his teeth and claws into the tender, vulnerable parts of Stiles until he yielded. Made him want to break the boy; tear him apart; swallow him down in the _worst_ sort of way. But Peter understood this part of his nature. He knew how to mitigate those urges with the ones that made him want to coddle and protect Stiles. He knew he could take Stiles without causing any permanent damage; knew he could claim Stiles without destroying him.

Peter snarled again, moving closer still. When he was near enough, he stood for a moment, looming over the teen. Peter wasn’t entirely sure, but he figured he was close to eight feet tall when in his alpha form. His body was muscular, and broad, and his fur was black as pitch. He threw his head back to howl again, the sound echoing eerily, before he dropped back down to all fours.

He was braced over Stiles’ thighs now. His head was above the teen’s flat stomach, because Stiles had flinched back when Peter lowered himself down and the boy was now spread out beneath him, flat on his back. He was staring down the length of his own torso at Peter and the alpha could feel the way his mate was shaking. He could hear the wild racing of Stiles’ heart; the harsh and uneven cadence of Stiles’ breathing. He paused, just for a moment, wondering what Stiles would do now. If the boy would submit, or fight, or perhaps give in to fear and cry and beg.

Stiles blinked, then breathed out. _“Peter...”_

His tone was reverent, and awed, and Peter held very still as Stiles reached up with one trembling hand. Those long, slim fingers brushed along the top of his muzzle, then shifted until they were touching the soft ruff of fur at his neck. Peter rumbled out a sound that wasn’t quite a growl, and Stiles’ breath hitched even as his lips twitched up into a smile.

“Werewolf purr.” Stiles murmured softly, fingers curling into that thick, dark fur for a moment before he let go.

Then, he reached his arms up over his head, tipped his head back, and slowly _stretched._ The act made his body into one long, lean arch. One that bared his belly, and his throat, in an act that was equal parts submission and supplication and enticement. Peter growled properly this time, his hunger and desire welling up in an instant, because it was everything he could have hoped for at the end of the chase. Stiles laughed, letting his body relax again as he smiled fondly up at Peter.

“Alright, Big Bad.” He murmured, the words soft and warm and affectionate. “But I actually really like my outfit, so how about you back up for a second so I can strip? Because if I let _you_ do it, there’s not going to be anything left but scraps.”

Peter felt shock wash over him and he took a startled half-step backwards. A questioning whine escaped his throat before he could stop it, because surely... _surely_ Stiles wasn’t offering what it sounded like he was offering. The very idea of it was shockingly impossible. A _beta_ might offer this to their alpha mate, but Stiles wasn’t that. He was a fragile, breakable _human._ Far more likely was that Stiles simply had no idea what he’d just implied with his words.

But Stiles was smirking at him now even as he eased himself out from under Peter’s bulk and began untying his sash. “What? You thought I’d insist on making you shift back?” Stiles shook his head, letting the fabric fall to the ground as his words rocked Peter to his core. “I get it, Peter. Your instincts and all, I mean. I’ve done the research, though I had no idea at the time that any of it would apply _to me._ But I know what you want. What you _need.”_

He continued stripping as he spoke and, when his torso was bare, he moved closer to Peter for a moment. He leaned in - Peter on all fours was eye-level with Stiles’ chest, after all - and pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s muzzle, heedless of Peter’s fangs and claws and fur. As though he felt perfectly safe with Peter, even like this. As though his trust in Peter was absolute.

“I’m saying yes.” Stiles murmured, straightening up and shifting back far enough to reach down and fuss with the buckles on his boots. “I’m saying yes to _all of you,_ Peter. I know what that means, and I’m not afraid. You won’t hurt me.”

As he tugged off one boot, he shot Peter a wicked grin. “In fact, I’m trusting you to make it good for me, because this is going to be my first time. Don’t disappoint me, Peter.” His second boot hit the dirt, then Stiles’ hands were undoing his pants. They fell to the ground, and Stiles kicked them aside as well.

Then he stood there, pale and slender and utterly captivating. Completely nude, body painted in shadow and shimmering silver moonlight, looking like everything Peter had ever wanted. Everything he’d ever needed. _Aroused,_ which was both surprising and not, considering Peter’s current shape. A part of Peter wanted to thank Stiles for this. For giving him something he had never expected a _human mate_ to allow. But Stiles had been surprising him since they day they met, and somehow it made perfect sense that this was happening the way it was.

Peter held perfectly still, though. Waited, just in case Stiles was about to change his mind. But his mate had yet to disappoint him and he wasn’t about to start now. So Peter watched as Stiles turned away from him, then slowly sank down to his knees. He watched as Stiles fell forward onto his hands, then dropped lower until his weight was braced on his forearms. Took in the obscene arch of Stiles’ spine, and the firm curve of his ass, and the delightful way Stiles was presenting for him. He memorized every detail, knowing just how precious this moment was.

Then, Peter moved forward.

~*~*~*~

Stiles wondered if he was insane. If any of the pack knew what he’d just agreed to...christ, they’d be _livid._ And not even over the whole _Peter Hale_ thing, though that would certainly have been a separate issue. But because he was breakable, and Peter was _a shifted alpha,_ and this was beyond fucking dangerous. Stiles _had_ done the research. He’d read the reports of alphas who tried to claim human mates while shifted. Read about their loss of control. Read about how tenuous their tie to their human side became during these moments, and how the alpha-shift made it worse. Read about the mangled mates; about the _death._ About bloody fangs, and clawed-open skin, and bodies ripped apart in every way possible.

And yet, Stiles trusted Peter. Against all reason, he _trusted_ Peter. Peter Hale _would not,_ under any circumstances, hurt him. Of that, Stiles was completely sure. His magic reached out for Peter in a way it had never reacted to anyone, and Stiles knew it meant something. It meant a lot of things, actually. And one of those things was that he had nothing to fear from the alpha werewolf. So he pushed aside all of the reasons this was a bad idea and _offered._

Because he understood now that he had belonged to Peter since that day he’d gone walking in the woods alone, and he was damned lucky Peter hadn't claimed him _then._ Figured the fact that he’d only been _nine_ had been the one thing restraining the werewolf, and imagined that if the Hale fire hadn't happened, he’d have learned about the supernatural world a lot sooner. He doubted Peter would have left him alone for long. And, honestly, part of Stiles was a little aggrieved that they had been kept apart by circumstances, because now that he knew - now that he _understood_ \- he couldn't imagine _not_ belonging to Peter, in every way. He was the alpha’s mate, yes, but Peter was also _his,_ and that wasn’t something Stiles took lightly.

So he offered himself, and accepted _all_ of Peter in return.

He could feel Peter behind him, huge and hot and utterly inhuman. Could feel Peter’s hot, damp breath and his fur - coarse, and dense, and a little oily - against his skin as the alpha circled him slowly. Stiles held still for him. He kept his face tucked into the crook of one arm, and resisted the urge to lower his ass because of how mortifyingly exposed he felt. He’d made it this far on bravado and he wasn’t about to give in to the embarrassment now. Stiles also knew that any attempt to cover himself or flee at this stage was likely to incite Peter’s instincts. Right now, Peter had some measure of control. He could take his time; be gentle. If Stiles pushed at those instincts, however, that would change. Peter would be overwhelmed by his need to claim Stiles; to possess him; to take ownership of his mate. He would view any attempt to stop him from doing so - even from Stiles himself - as a threat to that claim, and would get increasingly aggressive and forceful. Stiles imagined at least a few of the horror stories he’d read about alpha-human matings gone wrong had been due to a maidenly bout of _wedding night jitters,_ as it were.

Stiles might be a virgin, but he wasn’t _afraid._ Nervous, yes. Embarrassed, and worried about being inadequate, and _really_ hoping this would be _fun naked time_ as opposed to _painful naked time,_ obviously. But not _afraid._

Peter’s tongue - long, and rough, and very wet - licked up Stiles’ right thigh and over his flank, making him squeak and jerk in surprise. He then proceeded to snicker into his arm as he settled his body back into position, thinking a little hysterically, _‘Who’s afraid of the big, bad wolf?’_ It was the stupidest thought, but it popped into his head and just... _jesus,_ it was funny, for some reason.

Peter huffed out a sound that seemed almost exasperated and that just made Stiles giggle even more. He shifted his head enough to peek up at the werewolf when he felt Peter move around to the front of him. He met glowing red eyes and offered honestly. “Sorry. Just...nervous. I’m good, though, I swear. Do what you gotta do, dude.”

Peter rolled his eyes - and _that_ was interesting to see, given the current configuration of the alpha’s face - but obligingly circled back around, stopping behind Stiles’ body. His tongue dragged up the back of Stiles’ thigh this time, and it halfway tickled but it also felt... _different._ Wet in a way that was kind of disgusting, and rough in a way that wasn’t exactly _pleasant,_ and just...Stiles didn’t know how to explain it. Had no words for the way he got a heated little _thrill_ because yeah, this was sixteen different kinds of weird and fucked up, but that was still _Peter Hale’s tongue_ and it was still _on his skin._

And that...that was _hot._

Vengeful spree-killer crap aside, Peter was objectively _gorgeous._ And Stiles had stopped responding to danger the way a normal person did _long_ before Scott became a werewolf, okay. Not to mention he’d had a raging hard-on for fantasy and sci-fi creatures pretty much since he first hit puberty, and he was completely okay with that fact. Xenophilia was perfectly valid, as far as he was concerned, and learning that cryptids _actually existed_ was just added fuel on the fire of his already fevered masturbatory habits. So Peter, like this...yeah, it kind of hit a whole host of Stiles’ personal buttons and he wasn’t going to pretend it didn’t.

He was also pretty sure he wasn’t going to waste a whole lot of time feeling embarrassed about it, either, because Peter was still dragging that long, hot tongue over Stiles’ thighs and the fleshy curve of his ass and - _holyfuckinghell_ \- it felt good. So never mind what was normal, or what anyone else might think, because Stiles wanted this. He wanted it, and he was getting it, and he was damn sure going to enjoy it.

With that in mind, Stiles tucked his flushed face back into the crook of his elbow before shifting his knees a few inches further apart and arching his back just a little more. Peter growled behind him and then...oh _fuck,_ yes...

The next swipe of that tongue passed right over Stiles’ now-exposed hole and he cried out. The sound was high and needy and Stiles didn’t even care, far too busy pushing back against Peter’s tongue to worry about anything else. Peter rumbled in a way that Stiles took to be pleased, licking harder and faster now that he had Stiles’ enthusiastic and increasingly loud consent. Because Stiles had never been the best at staying quiet, or staying still, and now was no exception. So words bubbled up and spilled past his lips, a torrent of praise and pleas for more. And his hips pressed back, Stiles’ body begging just as fervently as his mouth was. 

And maybe it should have been horrifying, the way there was drool - thick and frothy - dripping down his balls, and slicking the inside of his thighs, but all Stiles cared about was how _wet_ his hole felt, and why that was _so important._ Maybe the rough feel of that impossibly long, dextrous tongue should have been jarring, but the way it pressed into the heated clutch of his body felt like Peter was somehow lighting up every nerve in Stiles’ body in the _best_ way. It was thick, and it was opening him up, and _christ,_ but Stiles wanted that. Keened, and whined, and pleaded for more. Canted his hips back, panting against the leaf-clutter beneath him as his hands fisted at dirt and grass and who the hell knew what else, because they were _outside,_ and somehow that made it better.

_Hotter._

And _fuck,_ but Stiles could feel Peter’s fangs...could feel those long, sharp teeth. The very front ones, at the end of his muzzle, were now pressing lightly against Stiles’ skin as he worked his tongue as deep into Stiles’ ass as he could. And maybe Stiles should have been afraid. Maybe it should have freaked him out, having an alpha’s teeth pressed so intimately against his skin, but Stiles could only think about how far inside of him that tongue was. Could only focus on the fact that Peter was tasting him, and prepping him, and _fucking_ him, all at the same time.

So he keened again, his cock hard and throbbing between his trembling legs and leaking steadily onto the ground. He pushed back against Peter’s questing tongue, heedless of the werewolf’s open mouth and dripping fangs. It didn’t take long for Stiles to come, spilling himself into the dirt with a particularly loud cry, and _still_ Peter didn’t stop. Stiles whimpered, and writhed under him, and choked on a moan that was half-pain and half-pleasure when he started getting hard _again,_ because Peter’s tongue was _relentless_ and Stiles had always been good for a couple of rounds of self-pleasure before he’d needed a break but _fuck,_ this was different. This was...this was _more,_ somehow, and he wasn’t certain how he could _possibly_ go again so soon, but Peter didn’t seem to care about that. Just kept going until Stiles was a flushed, panting mess beneath him once more. And then, when Peter finally retreated, Stiles _sobbed,_ because he was suddenly cold and empty and that was _not okay._

Only then Peter was on top of him, all of that rough, thick fur brushing against Stiles’ back as he settled himself over Stiles. Humid air ruffled his hair in steady bursts as Peter panted above his head. Long-fingered hands - too dextrous to be considered _paws,_ despite the fur and the claws and the fact that the palms and the underside of the fingers were padded - dug into the dirt on either side of where Stiles’ folded arms were supporting his weight. He was surrounded by the alpha werewolf; enveloped in heat and strength in a way that would have been threatening if it had been anyone other than _Peter_ who was above him. Instead, Stiles felt _safe._ Like he was wrapped up in a hug of sorts, for all that this was nothing like any hug he’d ever been a part of.

And Stiles could feel Peter’s cock pressing into his flank. It was warm against his skin, but not as overwhelmingly threatening as he’d feared. It felt...well, kind of _normal._ Not as monstrously huge as the rest of Peter, anyway. It was something of a relief, in one sense. It was a little disappointing, in another, but Stiles refused to dwell on that. He trusted Peter to make this good for him and no matter what Peter’s _equipment_ was like, it would be amazing. Hell, it had already _been_ amazing. So this...this was fine.

Peter rumbled soothingly against his ear, that rough-wet tongue dragging along the curve of it, tugging just a little against Stiles’ industrial bar and making him shiver at the stimulation. He felt the slightly tapered tip of Peter’s cock nudge against his hole and tried to focus on breathing; on _relaxing._ Except it slid in with an unexpected amount of ease, leaving Stiles feeling a lot surprised and also a little underwhelmed. It wasn’t that Peter was _small,_ he was just...well, Stiles wasn’t sure, actually, what was going on. It felt... _strange._ Not at all like what he’d thought it would be like to have a cock inside of him.

Peter thrust a couple of times, working himself fully into Stiles’ body, and Stiles just sort of...relaxed into it. It wasn’t _bad_ or anything, it was just different from what he’d been imagining, that was all. He sighed softly, body going sort of lax beneath Peter’s bulk. He was still hard, but it was in a less urgent way. The arousal had faded; dialed down until it was something that was like background noise in his brain. Not pressing or overly important, but simply there. And the rest of his muscles felt soft and languid in the wake of his previous orgasm and his desperate run through the forest before that, which had sapped most of his energy. He figured this was a good thing, him being so relaxed. Submission was something Peter would want from him right now.

And then, as Peter thrust again, everything sort of _changed._ Stiles’ breath hitched in his chest as he started to feel _full._ Like...like Peter was _expanding_ somehow. Not just in girth, either, but in _length._ It was like...like when Stiles went from having two fingers inside of himself to having three just a little too soon, and there was a stretch and a pull and a faint burn. And it wasn’t a bad thing; sometimes it was what Stiles _wanted,_ even. He was just struggling to reconcile what he was feeling with what was _actually happening,_ because it didn’t make any sense. It was almost as if...

...as if...

“Oh, shit...” Stiles breathed out, then sucked in shuddering breath as his mind rapidly ran through wikipedia articles and the massive amounts of _really fucking weird_ research he’d done when Scott was bitten. And once he was pretty sure he’d figured it out, he whined. “You have a fucking _baculum,_ Peter? Seriously?”

Peter rumbled again and Stiles imagined the sound was meant to be soothing, because Peter also nuzzled the side of his face. And, okay, it actually _was_ kind of soothing, because for a few minutes there Stiles had been worried about _lack of lube_ and the fact that he hadn't really been properly prepped, and a baculum sort of dealt with that nicely. Because Peter was only _now_ getting erect, and he was already _inside_ of Stiles. And somehow that made the stretch easier. Made it so Peter’s rapidly growing cock was carving out a place for itself, and Stiles’ body was just...accommodating it, because there wasn’t much choice in the matter.

And it was a little much, how _fast_ Peter’s cock was swelling. How every tiny, rocking thrust into his body - because Peter wasn’t withdrawing much; was mostly just grinding into Stiles over and over again in the most deliciously maddening way - seemed to swell his cock further, making Stiles’ head swim with the increasing stretch and pressure and fullness. He wondered how long this would go on for; how long Peter would continue to grow. Had no way to know; no way to measure how big Peter had gotten, or guess at when he would stop. Couldn't tell _anything,_ really, except that it felt like he was being filled past bearing and then his body would just _give,_ just a little bit more, over and over again, and it was like an endless cycle of too-much-not-enough.

Stiles was pulling in air in shaky little inhales, and letting each one out again with a soft little sound that was halfway between discomfort and satisfaction. He had no idea how long this had been going on for. He’d lost all sense of time, somewhere along the way, and it wasn’t until Peter finally stilled above him - no longer making those greedy little grinding thrusts with his hips - that Stiles really became _aware_ again. He wondered what was going to happen now, part of his brain offline from the too-full feel of Peter’s cock inside of him and part of his brain latching onto something _else_ he knew about canines and reproduction.

“P-peter...” He managed weakly as he pressed up onto his hands, bringing his upper body closer to Peter’s. He needed the contact - the reassurance and comfort of it - to help ground him against how overwhelming everything was.

Stiles moaned a little when Peter’s hips twitched the littlest bit, grinding that massive cock deeper into him. Taking a gasping breath, he asked in a rush. “D-do you have a knot? It’s okay if you do, or...or if you don’t, I just...I w-want to be ready, if-”

He was cut off by a rumbling sound from Peter, and he sighed when that long muzzle nudged at the back of his head. Stiles went with the push, tipping his head down and baring the pale expanse of the back of his neck. When Peter’s massive jaw closed around it - sharp teeth, and hot breath, and thick-wet drool running down his skin - Stiles whimpered. And yeah, okay; that answered his question, then. Because Peter was holding him still; was pinning him in place. And there was only one reason for that, considering Stiles hadn't been trying to get away in the first place.

Peter’s hips moved again - short, jabbing thrusts that didn’t really have him leaving Stiles’ body at all - and Stiles’ breathed through it. Breathed through the waves of pleasure, telling his body to ride them out _without_ tensing up, because this...this was not over. Not _nearly._ And, sure enough, he could feel the swell; the increased pressure. And _fuck,_ but it felt good. Stiles had thought this was all he could handle, because surely Peter was already taking up every bit of space there was. And yet, somehow, this wasn’t hurting. There was only pleasure, and an odd sort of euphoria filling up his brain, leaving him feeling off-balance and fuzzy-headed

And really, it was that feeling that made him realize what was happening. Peter was doing that weird werewolf pain-drain thing. Stiles recognized the light-headed giddy rush that followed. It melted into the pleasure even as Peter’s knot swelled and caught against his stretched-out rim, tugging every time he gave another grinding thrust. It was dizzying, and Stiles found himself pushing back into every thrust, greedy for more. Peter’s hard length was pressing right against Stiles’ prostate - unsurprising, given he didn’t think there was anywhere Peter’s cock _wasn’t_ pressing inside of him, with how large it was - and it was a constant electric thrill racing up his spine and along his nerve-endings.

Between the cock inside of him and the magic-induced euphoria, it didn’t take Stiles long at all to spill himself into the grass a second time, the sound torn from his throat something akin to a _wail,_ though he’d have denied it to anyone who asked.

Peter was growling now, a steady and continuous sound, and the knot inside Stiles’ ass was pulsing in a way that Stiles’ hazy brain told him meant Peter was orgasming, too. Stiles moaned weakly, shifting his hips restlessly as he felt even fuller; as Peter’s cock pumped what was surely an _obscene_ amount of come into him. He didn’t even want to _think_ about the mess; about the clean-up this was going to entail. Instead, he focused on Peter; on what his alpha needed.

“So good...” He mumbled, words coming out sleepy and half-slurred because his brain was a bit pleasure-drunk and not quite operating properly yet, but he was going to make this good for Peter, dammit. “Full...s’good, P-peter...so _much,_ I...”

Peter’s growl got a little deeper; a little louder. Stiles took that as a good thing and continued, words gathering steam as they spilled off his tongue almost as soon as he thought them; a stream of babble he wasn’t filtering at all.

“Filling me up _so good,_ Peter...” He moaned softly, shifting his hips again to try to resettle his body as he adjusted to feeling like he was going to _burst_ with how full he was. “F-full of your cock, and your knot, a-and your _c-come..._ ”

Stiles’ cock twitched half-heartedly with the continued stimulation of Peter’s cock inside him, and he whimpered a little at that, because _no,_ oh my god, he _couldn't._ Not yet, anyway. There was no way his body was ready for that, no matter what it seemed to think; no matter how good this felt, in the most overwhelming way imaginable. He was pretty sure he’d pass out if he had another orgasm and, contrary to what the internet said, Stiles didn’t think that sounded like a fun time.

“Too much...” He gasped out, because it _was,_ but also... “You’re perfect, Peter, so...fuck, you’re doing so good, breeding me so good, alpha-”

The word rolled off his tongue without thought and then choked itself off in a sound that was halfway between a squeak and a scream as Peter’s jaw _tightened_ around his neck. There was no pain, but Stiles wasn’t sure that meant anything, and the hot-wet drool meant he couldn't tell if there was blood, and he just...he didn’t _know,_ but his brain was definitely fucking awake again now, afterglow be damned.

Panting and resisting the urge to try to throw Peter off him - it would be futile and, if he wasn’t yet, it might _get him_ bit - Stiles said sharply. “If you broke skin just now, I swear to god, I’ll cut off your balls.”

Peter went still, then released Stiles’ neck and let out a huffing _whuff_ of air that almost sounded like a laugh. A long, rough tongue dragged itself over the back of his neck, and then there was a second - longer - lick across the breadth of his shoulders before Peter nuzzled into the side of his face again. Stiles took that as reassurance that no, Peter hadn't broken skin, and sighed.

“Good.” He reached up with one hand, though it left him shaking and kind of unsteady, and patted Peter’s neck for a moment before bracing himself again. “Now, how long are we going to be stuck like this, because I need food and a nap so I can recover. And a shower, because I’m kneeling in the dirt and between that and all of your werewolf jizz and the insane amount of slobbering you did all over me, I’m seriously grody right now.”

Stiles felt magic ripple against his skin, the air filled with the sound of snapping bones for the span of a few heartbeats, and then the fur along his back was replaced with the heated press of naked skin. A second later, Peter purred in his ear. “We’re not stuck at all, love. I can shift back any time I like.”

“Clearly.” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. He did note that Peter was still inside him, though his softening - and now knot-free - cock wasn’t doing much to prevent the come from leaking out of Stiles’ ass. It felt weird, and kind of disgusting, and Stiles was pretty sure this was his least favorite part of the whole ordeal.

Clenching as much as his stretched-out, protesting ass would allow, Stiles groaned and lamented miserably. “I’m pretty sure you permanently ruined my butt, dude.”

“Nonsense. You’ll be fine.” Peter’s - now human - tongue traced the curve of Stiles’ ear, then his teeth closed over the top of it, encasing cartilage and the metal industrial bar for a moment before he murmured. “You’re alright, pet. No blood anywhere.”

“Mmmm...good.” Stiles yawned, then groaned again as he assessed his shaking limbs. “Any chance you can be convinced to carry me out of the Preserve? I honestly don’t think I can walk.”

Peter laughed for real this time, nuzzling a little aggressively at the side of Stiles’ throat before hooking his chin over Stiles’ shoulder. “I’ll carry you, pet. No worries. But we’re not leaving the Preserve. And you’ll need to call your father and tell him you won’t be home tonight.”

“Dude, I have school in the morning. No way I’m getting out of going home.” Stiles griped as the alpha shifted away from him at last, then he yelped when he was manhandled into a bridal-carry hold. “Jesus _fuck,_ Peter, a little warning before you go yanking me all over the place!”

“He can call you in sick.” Peter said, sounding weirdly placid and reasonable considering what he was demanding. “I won’t be able to let you out of my sight for the next twenty-four hours or so, Stiles, and that’s just how it is. And for the next week, you’ll need to stay with me though I should be able to release you during school hours after tomorrow.”

“R- _release_ me...?” Stiles sputtered, paying very little attention to where Peter was walking. In the dark, all of the trees in the Preserve looked the same to him anyway. “I’m not a _prisoner,_ am I? I don’t remember reading about this, dude. And again, _school._ And like, _underage,_ and all that fun stuff. My dad’s the _sheriff._ You can’t just kidnap me!”

Peter hummed and it sounded agreeable, but then Peter went and ruined it as he continued. “Tell him to come over. I’ll explain everything to him, and we’ll work out the necessary arrangements for the duration of the bonding period.”

“I am _not_ telling my dad about the supernatural crap!” Stiles half-shouted the words, struggling against Peter’s hold as fury and indignation took hold. “Put me down, dammit, this isn’t what I agreed to!”

“It is, actually.” Peter sighed, tightening his grip and giving Stiles a little bounce in his arms that was hard enough it jarred Stiles’ teeth together. “Stop fussing at me like a child, Stiles, and show some decorum. You’re mated to an alpha now. Do try to act like it.”

Stiles glared at Peter, his eyes lighting up golden as he called on his magic. “I’m a hell of a lot more than just _an alpha’s mate,_ Peter, and you’d better not forget it. If I say put me down, you will damn well _put me down,_ are we clear?”

~*~*~*~

Peter let his eyes burn red as he bared his fangs at his impertinent young mate, snarling to show his annoyance and rising temper before he said as gently as he could manage. “You just let me claim you, Stiles. I _cannot_ put you down right now. If you try to walk away from me, I honestly don’t know what will happen but I doubt it will be pleasant. Even the idea of it has me wanting to sink both fangs and claws into your skin, if only to keep you _still._ Do you understand?”

Stiles’ face was set in a mutinous sort of pout, but he nodded tersely. “Fine. But I’m not telling my dad. I’m _not._ Figure something else out.”

Peter sighed, rolling his eyes as he easily followed the path from the clearing to the Hale property, despite the lack of moonlight under the thick canopy of trees. “Honestly, Stiles. You’ve gotten several extra years of your father’s ignorance thanks to how things played out, but that’s going to have to come to an end. Circumstances being what they are, he needs to know.”

“What?”

Peter glanced down at Stiles, raising an eyebrow at the stunned look on Stiles’ face. “Obviously if I hadn't been in a coma, I - with Talia’s assistance - would have had to inform your father of what we were, and what you are to me, so that I could claim you. I could hardly have abducted you for a week without your father noting your disappearance, and I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to deal with the state and federal charges associated with kidnapping and defiling such a young human.”

Stiles licked his lips, then asked curiously. “When would you have...I mean, if not for the fire and the coma and all, obviously...when, do you think...”

Peter hummed noncommittally, then offered. “I could probably have contained myself until you were thirteen, if I was careful and if Talia had kept a very close eye on me. Limiting my exposure to you would have helped. Certainly no longer than that.” He shrugged, adding. “Sooner, most likely, if I had found myself alone with you at any point after your body started transitioning into adolescence. I would have tried very hard to wait, though. For your sake.”

“Oh.” Stiles’ voice sounded faint, and kind of funny. Peter wondered what he was thinking; if he’d frightened Stiles with his honesty.

Then, Stiles murmured, _‘Kate Argent fucking sucked.’_ and Peter realized that Stiles was annoyed he’d been forced to wait for Peter to claim him. The alpha rumbled out a pleased sort of sound at that, because _yes,_ of course his mate was annoyed. Stiles _should_ be annoyed by that. Stiles wanted to belong to Peter, after all. He’d more than proven that.

And still...

“I need to tell your father.” Peter reaffirmed. “He has to understand that things are going to be different now. I have neither the patience nor the inclination to attempt to sneak around him to be near you, Stiles.”

Deliberately softening his tone, Peter added. “He was always going to find out, when the time came for you to be mine. This is simply how it has to be.”

Stiles sort of slumped in his arms, all of the fight going out of him. He rested his cheek on Peter’s shoulder and nodded slowly, his voice low and unhappy as he finally agreed. “Okay. But don’t expect me to happy about it.”

“Of course not, darling.” Peter agreed.

~*~*~*~

Stiles lifted his head from Peter’s shoulder, half-asleep from the heat of the older man and his rather exhausting evening. He blinked in confusion at the house looming over the clearing they’d stepped into. There were lights on in several windows, and one on the porch. It looked newly painted, and the glass panes in the windows were all shiny and new, and there wasn’t a trace of smoke damage or fire or anything at all. Part of Stiles’ brain was insisting this was some _other_ house in the woods, but just enough about it was the same to make him positive that he was, in fact, staring up at the old Hale house.

“How...?”

“I had construction started before I left to deal with certain things.” Peter explained, crossing the front yard with Stiles still held safely in his arms. “The house was deeded to me, rather than to Laura and Derek, because it was mine and Talia’s parents’ house and I was next in line for it. It wasn’t easy to reclaim it, but I managed. Construction was done about a month ago, but I wasn’t quite ready to come back yet. I had the water and electricity and such turned on yesterday, as soon as I got back into town.”

“Oh.” Stiles sighed, then admitted. “I’m a little disappointed. I was kind of imagining you living in a cave or something equally evil and fucked up.”

Peter snorted as he mounted the porch steps, shooting Stiles an exasperated look. “Really, Stiles? I much prefer comfort and luxury. It matters far more than any supervillain aesthetic.”

Stiles grinned, shrugging and utterly unapologetic. “I mean, I guess, but like...can you blame me for thinking it? Your nephew required months of harping and nagging to get him to stop sleeping in an abandoned subway car. It might have been a genetic predisposition to unsuitable housing. It’s not like I had any way to be sure.”

“You’re insane.”

“Mmmm...possibly.” Stiles agreed, still grinning. They were standing in front of the front door now and Stiles wondered if Peter had a key. The man was naked; it wasn’t like he had _pockets_ or anything, after all.

Except then the front door opened and Stiles squeaked, curling into Peter and hiding his face because he was _naked, dammit._ And that was a very young, very beautiful, _very female_ person standing in the doorway, looking completely unimpressed by what she was seeing. Stiles hadn't gotten the best look at her, but what he’d seen had been suitably intimidating. Cautiously, he peeked back over, taking her in more fully.

Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, a few stray curls framing a face that was devastatingly gorgeous. Slender, with high cheekbones. Lightly tanned, flawless skin. A full, wide mouth that was pulled into a frown. Large brown eyes with delicate brows above them, one of which had been raised in clear disapproval. She was slim - almost willowy - though she was wearing a wide-necked, baggy sweater that dwarfed her. It was a knitted affair, turquoise and purple all melting together, and something about it made her look fragile. Her long, slim legs were encased in charcoal grey leggings and her feet, he noted, were bare. She wore no makeup.

A few seconds passed in silence, then Peter sighed. “Move.” He demanded, and a glance up at him showed that his eyes were burning red.

The young woman - girl? Stiles wasn’t sure of her age - flashed her own eyes back at him, bright beta gold and obligingly moved out of the doorway, though her frown and judgmental eyebrow stayed as she grumbled. “Seriously, Peter? Why, exactly, are you carrying a naked teenage boy right now? How is this happening? When did this become my life?”

Peter sighed as he carried Stiles into the house, then started. “This isn’t about yo-”

“Why is this what you brought home with you, Peter?” The unknown female interrupted, clearly not intimidated by the alpha. “I requested Chinese food. This is decidedly _not_ Chinese food. You do understand that, right? I can’t eat _him.”_

She gestured to Stiles as she said it and he sort of tucked himself closer to Peter, because _what the fuck?_ And she kept going, clearly on a roll now. “He’s not even Asian! You never listen to me, Peter. I’ve been with you for a month now and not once have you brought me what I asked for. _Not once._ This isn’t a good sign, you know. It doesn’t bode well for our relationship.”

That...that brought Stiles up short. “Who are you?” He asked.

His voice was small and uncertain, because surely Peter hadn't brought Stiles here to meet his...his what? His live-in girlfriend? His fuck-buddy? A beta he’d been using for sex? None of the options Stiles could think of were pleasant, and dammit all _he_ was Peter’s mate. He shouldn’t have to deal with things like this; shouldn’t have to face down some she-wolf proclaiming things about her _relationship_ with Peter like she had some right to the alpha.

The girl - Stiles was going with _girl_ because he really didn’t think she was much older than him; had a feeling she couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen at the most - gave him a flat look and said simply. “I don’t talk to naked people.”

“Wh-uh...” Stiles scoffed, bristling up at that. “Peter’s naked and you’re talking to _him!”_

“I’ve seen Peter naked so many times it doesn’t count.” The girl waved a dismissive hand, rolling her eyes. “I don’t even know you. It’s different.”

Peter growled. “I’m not in the mood to deal with your nonsense right now, Corie. Neither I nor Stiles have our phones on us and we need to make a call. Bring me the house one.”

“It’s archaic that we even _have_ a house phone, Peter. You know that, right? You’re living in the dark ages. It’s horrible.” The girl - Corie, apparently, and something about that name was tickling at Stiles’ memory but he couldn't quite figure out why - snarked and made absolutely no move to go get the phone Peter had demanded. “I’m hungry, Peter. I’m hungry and there’s no food in the house and you brought back this weird human boy rather than Chinese food. What am I supposed to eat now? I’m going to start gnawing on your furniture, I swear to god. Your jizz-filled fucktoy is not an acceptable substitute for sustenance, dammit.”

“Cora!” Peter snapped, and _oh._ It was the harsh tone combined with the full first name that made it click for Stiles. This...this was Peter’s _niece._ This was _Derek’s sister._ Except...except she had been a victim of Kate Argent’s crazy...hadn't she?

“I thought you were dead.” Stiles blurted out, because he’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut, even when it was better if he did.

Cora snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, you and everyone else, apparently. But I’m not. Though I might be soon if _someone_ doesn’t feed me. I’m going to waste away to nothing.”

Peter snarled. “Just bring me the phone, then go get yourself the damn Chinese food!”

“With what money? You don’t have your phone, so I’m betting you don’t have your wallet.” Cora said, and now _she_ was bristling indignantly. “And you took your car and didn’t bring it back with you so am I just supposed to walk all the way into town? You’re such an asshole, Peter!”

Peter growled, low and threatening, and Cora’s chin came up as she declared haughtily. “Fuck this, I don’t have to take your attitude. Maybe I’ll just go live with Derek in his weird industrial loft. Sure it has a giant fucking hole in the wall and he never locks the damn door, but at least the Chinese place will deliver to there.”

She gestured around them, encompassing the house, and added. “I can’t get anything delivered to this house, Peter. Not even pizza. No one will bring me food because you insisted we had to live way out here in the woods, like before, except _before_ we could get food delivered and now we _can’t_ because no one lived out here for so long that they stopped delivering to the woods! This is inhumane. It violates the Geneva Convention, I’m sure of it. All I wanted was some damn lo mein, and instead you got distracted by your dick. I hate you sometimes, Peter, and I feel like you should know that.”

“Have you tried DoorDash?” Stiles asked curiously. Cora frowned, looking baffled, so Stiles hurried to explain. “It’s an app. People go pick up food for you and bring it to your house, or your work, or the beach, or whatever. Like uber drivers, but for food delivery.”

Cora’s face lit up. “Are you serious? I lived in Argentina and we didn’t have that. I had no idea that existed, oh my god.” She reached out and patted Stiles on the head, seemingly uncaring that he was still naked in her uncle’s arms. “I’m gonna grab you the house phone, then download this app. It’s called DoorDash, you said? _Awesome.”_

She darted out of the entry hall and was back a moment later, holding out a cordless house phone, her other hand already occupied with her cellphone. “You want anything to eat, Peter? I can order from multiple places, it looks like, so it doesn’t even have to be Chinese.” She shot her uncle a cool look as Stiles took the phone from her, adding. “I’m asking because _I_ am a courteous person who would never let a pack member go hungry, unlike _some_ people.” She cut her eyes to Stiles. “And what about you? You’re probably starving, right? Alpha-matings aren’t easy on anyone, let alone a human, so I’m sure you need to eat. And sleep. You don’t need a doctor, do you? I don’t think I can order one of those on an app, but I could call 911, I guess.”

“Uh...I’m good?” Stiles offered, thrown a little off-balance by all of Cora’s mood-shifting and babbling. “Like, on the doctor front, I mean. Not a scratch on me, actually. Peter was surprisingly careful for something that looked like it came out of a horror movie. Food is good, though. I’ll eat just about anything, so if you’re getting Chinese just like, order double. Or a double bacon cheeseburger with curly fries and a chocolate shake from the diner is always awesome.”

Cora had gone very still while he was talking, and she was now staring at him, mouth open in shock and her eyes wide and round. “Y-you...” She stammered, and Stiles wondered what he’d said to freak her out so much.

“Me...me, what?”

“You _let him...”_ She gasped, flicking her eyes between Stiles and Peter, then finally asking in an awed and slightly disbelieving tone. “While he was _shifted,_ you really let him...?”

“Oh!” Stiles huffed out a breath, then rolled his eyes. “I mean, yeah? I get that that doesn’t always end well. I did a ton of research about eight months back, so I knew the risks. It’s just, I mean, I trust Peter. And I have my magic, so I figured I could probably get away if things started to go south, or at the very least I could have sent out a distress signal and gotten help from Derek’s pack if I needed it. But mostly I just...I wasn’t really worried. And the whole thing went great.”

He paused for a second, then added. “Also, I’m kind of weirded out that we’re having this conversation while two-thirds of us are naked and in desperate need of showers. This is really strange. Does this happen a lot among werewolves?”

“Not exactly?” Cora shrugged. “Nudity was never a big deal in my family, because we always had at least a couple of people who could do the whole full-shift into wolves thing. And like, there’s no way to hide if you’re having sex or masturbating or whatever - even from the kids - because everybody can hear it, and smell it, and just...it stops being a taboo subject and it’s just something that you know happens. Like eating, or showering, or taking a shit. It’s all just body-stuff.”

“Right.” Stiles kind of wanted to ask more questions about that - about what it was like growing up without privacy, but also with a sort of body-comfort most people couldn't fathom - but he was also pretty sure now wasn’t the best time for that. “So, I’m just going to take your uncle and shower and put some clothes on, because apparently we need to tell my dad about werewolves, but I will definitely appreciate it if food is waiting when we get back down here.”

Peter sighed and added. “There’s an emergency credit card in my office. Top drawer of my desk, on the left-hand side. It shouldn’t be locked, but if it is the key is on the ring of spares in the kitchen.” He shifted forward and - with the both of them ignoring Stiles’ naked self wedged between them - nuzzled his cheek against Cora’s. “Order enough food for all of us. And something healthier with lots of vegetables for the sheriff.”

“Screw that.” Stiles cut in as Peter stepped back again, though part of him appreciated that Peter knew he worried about his dad’s heart and was trying to look out for him, too. “We need him in a _really_ good mood for this conversation. Get him a burger and curly fries.”

“Fuckton of food, being ordered. Roger that.” Cora turned on her heel and walked away, Stiles assumed to go and get the credit card Peter had just directed her to. As she disappeared from sight, she called out. “Have fun in the shower, and remember that I can hear you!”

Peter roared at her, then - in a voice laced with annoyance - said. “Stop trying to make my mate uncomfortable, dammit!” When Cora’s laughter drifted back to them, Peter muttered. “Talia _clearly_ didn’t discipline her children enough. They’re wildly disrespectful.”

As Peter turned and mounted the stairs, Stiles reached up and stroked his fingers along the edge of Peter’s jaw. When the alpha looked down at him, Stiles said simply. “I like her. She’s not afraid of you, and she’s not afraid to laugh and tease. That’s good. She can help Derek learn to be happy again, which he needs.”

Peter seemed to relax, smiling softly at him. “I agree.” He carried Stiles through what was clearly the master bedroom, into the en-suite bath, then added. “Cora hasn’t decided which pack she wants to be in yet. Part of me wants her in mine - I need betas, and she’s family - but I have a feeling Derek needs her more than I do. Open the door, Stiles.”

Stiles obligingly tugged open the foggy glass door to the shower. As Peter finally set him down - on a bench set into the wall of the impressively large shower - Stiles said. “No matter who she decides to call alpha, you’ll all still be family. I think that’s all that matters, really.”

“You’re very sweet.” Peter leaned down and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ hair, then he added. “Call your father while I gather up towels and clothes. And Stiles? Don’t move from where I’ve put you. I won’t like it if you do.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Yes, alpha.” He snarked.

Peter didn’t seem to mind, if the heated look he shot Stiles was anything to go by. Blushing, Stiles hastily started dialing the number for the station. He’d had it memorized since he was in kindergarten, so it was easy enough to do. Peter disappeared back into the bedroom as Stiles brought the phone up to his ear, listening as it rang. The voice that picked up only took him a few seconds to place, thankfully.

“Heeey, Parrish. Still stuck on desk-duty, huh?” Stiles tried to keep a good rapport with his dad’s deputies; one never knew when he might need one of them on his side. “It’s cause you’re new, but don’t sweat it. Dad rotates you guys through pretty quickly.”

Laughter sounded in his ear, then Jordan said. _“Hey, Stiles. I don’t mind paying my dues here. I’m guessing you’re calling for your dad, right? He’s in his office so just give me a second and I’ll patch you through.”_

“Thanks, man.”

Stiles bounced one leg a little while waiting for the call to transfer, making a face when his squirming made more of Peter’s come slide out of him. He was pretty sure he was sitting in a small puddle of the stuff already, and silently hoped he hadn't dripped it all over the entry hall downstairs. He didn’t think Cora would _ever_ let him live it down if he had. He heard the telltale _click_ that said his dad had picked up, and normally he’d be off and talking at this point. Would launch into the purpose of his call, all excitement and chatter if it was a good call and all deflection and defensiveness if it wasn’t. Except Stiles couldn't talk. His throat was tight, and his vocal cords seemed frozen, and his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth.

 _“Stiles?”_ His dad’s voice was concerned, and a little confused. _“Did we get disconnected? I don’t...are you there, kiddo?”_

“Y-yeah...” He finally croaked, clearing his throat awkwardly and blinking back tears because _dammit, no._

He did _not_ want his dad near this stuff; near all of the fangs and claws and blood and danger and _death._ Near druids, and werewolves, and kanimas, and geriatric hunters, and who the hell even _knew_ what else. Stiles hated that his dad was the sheriff, because it was arguably the most dangerous job in town, and it was really just graffiti and speeding tickets and noise complaints most of the time. This...this was all of the _other_ stuff. This was the cases his dad could never quite solve or properly categorize. Missing persons, and dead bodies, and _mysterious circumstances._ This was everything that might actually be the end of his dad, once and for all, and he just...he didn’t know how to do this; how to be _okay_ with this.

 _“Stiles? Kiddo, what’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt? Stiles, just...where are you?”_ His dad’s voice was panicked now, under the firm and authoritative edge he was putting into it. _“Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you, okay? No punishments or recriminations. I just need you to tell me where you are. Tell me what’s happening, so I can help you.”_

Suddenly, strong fingers were prying his own off the phone and then Peter was talking. “Hello, Sheriff Stilinski. This is Peter Hale.” He paused, then said. “No, Stiles isn’t hurt. He’s just feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment. I shouldn’t have left him unattended, that was my fault.”

His father said something - Stiles could hear his angry, demanding tone though not the specific words - then Peter made a soothing sound before saying. “I asked him to call you, actually. I don’t know when you get off, but I’d greatly appreciate it if you could come by my house.” A pause, then Peter said. “Yes, the old Hale property. I’ve taken up residence again, yes, and that’s where Stiles currently is. Some things occurred tonight that I’m going to need to talk to you about, so we can work out what’s going to happen next.”

Whatever his dad said next made Peter’s grin go dark and predatory, and Stiles was deeply grateful that they were talking on the phone, rather than face-to-face. Peter’s tone was deceptively level when he spoke again. “No, Sheriff, I don’t imagine you’ll need to arrest your son this evening. We’ve ordered food, including something for you. So please, join us at your convenience. If you’ll excuse me, I have some...clean-up to oversee.” A pause, then Peter laughed warmly. “An hour sounds fine, there’s no rush. I’ll see you when you get here, Sheriff.”

Peter held out the phone to Stiles. When he took it, holding it numbly, Peter rumbled and ordered quietly. “Say goodbye, Stiles.”

He put the phone back to his ear, then whispered. “Hi, Dad.”

 _“Stiles...”_ His dad sighed in his ear, sounded weary. _“Please tell me you didn’t do something stupid like egg Peter Hale’s newly built house. I don’t think I can handle having to deal with the eldest member of the town’s founding family pressing vandalism charges against my kid. This is an elected position. You do remember that, don’t you?”_

“I...I didn’t.” Stiles managed, voice barely more than breath. He just...couldn't seem to make the words come out any louder. “It’s nothing like that. Peter...Peter’s not mad at me. I promise. W-we’ll explain everything when you get here.” Swallowing against more tears, he added in a choked voice. “I love you, Dad.”

 _“Well, hell, kiddo...I love you, too.”_ His dad was back to sounding concerned, but there was no doubting the sincerity in his words. _“You swear you aren’t hurt?”_

“M’fine.”

_“Okay, then. I’ll see you in an hour.”_

“Bye.” Stiles murmured, then Peter was taking the phone and turning it off; disconnecting the call and making this all seem...very final.

The next thing Stiles knew, Peter had somehow joined him in the shower, and the water was on, and he was being cradled against the alpha’s chest again. Peter sat on the bench, and Stiles found himself perched on his strong thighs, safely ensconced in Peter’s arms. And as Stiles turned his head and buried his face in Peter’s neck, he started to sob. Because this...this was all just too damn much and _something_ had to give.

Peter simply held him close, and rumbled that soothing werewolf purr in a steady stream, and pressed tender kisses to Stiles’ hair. Mostly, he just let Stiles cry. And that, Stiles decided, was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. Because after everything he’d been through, he was pretty sure he _needed_ to cry...and it was lovely to know that Peter understood. He didn’t feel judged, or broken, or pathetic. He felt safe. Protected. _Loved._

As the tears finally stopped, Stiles decided that maybe - just maybe - that meant everything was going to be okay.

~*~*~*~

Peter washed an exhausted Stiles the way one might wash a small, sleepy child. Stiles moved when Peter nudged him to, but otherwise sat still and silent as Peter gently washed away the remnants of their previous activity. Normally, Peter’s wolf would have balked at washing his scent off of his new mate, but the walk to the house had let his scent seep into Stiles’ skin and the light cleaning he was doing wouldn’t disturb it much. Also, he knew that presenting the sheriff with his son in anything less than pristine condition was unlikely to go over well. It wouldn’t kill him, but that didn’t mean Peter wanted to get shot by his mate’s furious, gun-wielding father. 

So he washed them both, letting the simple touches it required soothe some of the misery out of Stiles’ scent. Then, Peter carefully dried his mate off before helping the teen into a pair of soft cotton sleep pants and a long-sleeved tee, both of which smelled like Peter himself. As he pulled on a set of the same, Peter heard a car pull up to the house. Cora had obviously heard it too, as the front door opened before the bell was rung, and he could hear her greeting the delivery driver and accepting the food.

“Our dinner’s here.” Peter told Stiles softly, leaning in to nuzzle their cheeks together before pressing a kiss to Stiles’ temple. “Come on, pet. Time to eat.”

Stiles made to shuffle along beside Peter as they left the bathroom, but his lethargy and listlessness had Peter deciding to scoop him up an instant later. As he carried Stiles back downstairs, to where Cora was setting out the food in the dining room, the teen rested his cheek on Peter’s shoulder and nuzzled into him. The soft, easy gesture of affection warmed Peter and he knew he was smiling when he entered the dining room. Cora glanced over, her whole face going soft the moment she saw them.

“He’s sleeping.” She murmured, and Peter realized she was right as he listened to the even cadence of Stiles’ heartbeat and breathing. Cora seemed to study Stiles as she added. “He’s really quite remarkable, Peter. I’d never have imagined he would let you claim him while you were shifted, given how breakable humans are.”

“He’s hardly the first to allow such a thing.” Peter said, sitting down and cradling Stiles comfortably on his lap.

“Yes, but those are generally humans who don’t know any better, or ones who have been convinced that their claiming alpha’s control is perfect and there’s no real risk.” Cora started digging into her Chinese food as she spoke. “Stiles knows better. He did the research. He understood just how dangerous it was, and what would have happened if things had gone badly. He chose to allow it anyway. That says a lot.”

Peter knew she was right, but said nothing. Discussing Stiles’ many virtues would only make Peter feel those annoying stirrings of guilt that had led to him leaving in the first place, six months earlier. He really should have claimed Stiles right away, after coming back from the dead; it would have been easier on Stiles if he’d done it while he was a beta, after all. But he hadn't felt worthy of the boy, and Peter’s discomfort with claiming Stiles before he could properly offer him everything he deserved had led to him disappearing for six months. And yes, it had certainly been worth the delay in claiming, because he’d found - and rescued - Cora as well as becoming an alpha again, but that didn’t mean he was willing to sit there and drown himself in recriminations over how Stiles deserved someone much better than _Peter._

Peter, who was almost twice Stiles’ age. Peter, who had more blood on his hands than even a werewolf really should, including the blood of a family member. Peter, who hadn't had the patience, or the control, to wait for Stiles to finish growing up before claiming him.

“What has you frowning like that?” Cora asked, soft and serious, all traces of her earlier teasing and antagonization gone in the face of her concern for her uncle.

And while Peter had never, as a rule, been one to show weakness...Cora was pack. And because he was trying very hard these days to be worthy of having family and pack again, he admitted. “I really don’t deserve him. I doubt I ever could have, but after the fire...the things I’ve done since...” He shook his head. “I should have left him alone. Should have contented myself with knowing he was safe and happy, rather than selfishly keeping him for myself. Were I a better man, I _would_ have, but I’m not. And therein lies the crux of the problem.”

Cora shrugged. “I don’t think it really works like that, though. People don’t _earn_ each other. That’s not a thing. They either love each other, or they don’t.” She glanced at Stiles again. “And I think we can safely assume he loves you. So that’s all there is to it.”

Peter opened his mouth, ready to protest, but she cut him off. “If you’d claimed him against his will, I’d call you on it. Seriously. I’d be turning you into his dad for rape, and to hell with the consequences. But that’s not the case. Stiles chose. Knowing everything you and Derek explained he knows - after everything he’s been through - he _still_ chose you. Chose _this._ So I’m thinking you need to respect his choice and cut yourself a little slack.”

“He cried himself into exhaustion, Cora.” Peter’s words were sharp, but the anger in them was directed solely at himself and they both knew it. “That hardly seems like a promising sign.”

“He’s had a long night.” Cora said. “Maybe cut _him_ some slack, too. Even though it’s clearly what he wanted, a lot changed tonight. He’s gonna need to adjust to that. Don’t hold it against him that he had an emotional reaction. I think it’s pretty normal, considering. It doesn’t mean he regrets what happened, and it doesn’t negate him choosing it.”

She nodded towards Stiles, adding. “And like, maybe you weren’t the most patient, considering he’s not legally an adult yet, but you _didn’t_ force him. He wanted this. If things had happened differently and you’d claimed him when he was thirteen, I think his choice would have been the same. Hell, if you’d _actually_ been the monster you seem intent on thinking of yourself as, and you’d claimed him the day you met him in the woods, way back when he was nine, I’m pretty sure he _still_ would have wanted it and been okay wlith it.”

“You cannot possibly know that.” Peter protested.

“Maybe not.” Cora shrugged, looking unconcerned. “But I _did_ know Stiles back then. We were in the same class for years. And I’m telling you, between that and what you and Derek have said about how things played out over the last year...I really believe Stiles would have accepted you, no matter how or when it happened. He’s never let anyone make him into the victim, and I’m pretty sure he’d be pissed as hell if he found out you were trying.”

And _that,_ Peter had to agree with. He remembered the night he’d forced Stiles to come with him, to try to track down Derek; the night of the dance, when he’d bitten the young banshee girl to ensure his resurrection if things went south. Stiles had been terrified, yes, but he’d demanded Peter allow him to get Lydia help before he’d go with him. Then, he’d snarked and sassed his way through helping Peter. And, finally, he had refused Peter’s bite with a confidence that said he fully expected Peter to respect his _no._ Considering Peter had bitten both Scott and Lydia against their wills, it was strange, really, that Stiles had been so sure that Peter would listen to him.

But he _had_ been sure, and Peter _had_ listened, and really, didn’t that say it all? Stiles made his own choices. He always had. And Peter, better than anyone, knew that his mate had chosen _wolves_ long before he’d know what that meant. After all, he’d been looking for them in the woods the day they’d met. As he listened to the peaceful, steady sound of Stiles’ heartbeat, Peter decided there was no point at all in doubting things now.

Stiles belonged to him. That was how they _both_ wanted it. Nothing else mattered.

~*~*~*~

The sound of the police cruiser pulling up woke Stiles. He knew that engine, and part of his brain always registered the sound of it because it meant his dad was - once again - home safe. Except that this time, hard on the heels of the instinctive relief, came the panicked remembrance of where he was, and why his dad was there. His eyes flew open and he sat up so abruptly he almost fell right off of Peter’s lap. Which...okay, _no._ He could _not_ be sitting on the lap of a man nearly twice his age when his dad walked in. That was a spectacularly _bad_ idea.

He tried to get up, only for Peter to growl and flash red eyes at him in warning. “My dad is here, dude.” Stiles hissed, his own eyes narrowing angrily. “I am _not_ greeting him from your lap. We’re trying to get _approval,_ right? So trust me when I say that this...” He gestured to himself, on Peter’s lap. “Is _not_ the way to do that!”

Peter shrugged, then - as the doorbell rang - tightened his grip on Stiles and nuzzled into his throat. “Begin as you mean to go on, Stiles. I’ve always believed that.” He did let Stiles resettle himself so he was facing the table, rather than sitting sideways across Peter’s thighs, though, which Stiles figured was a little better.

Not much; not _nearly_ enough. But...better, anyway.

“Oh my god, you’re insane.” Stiles whined, sounding miserable about that fact. He heard footsteps and, in sheer desperation, called out. “Dad? Please tell me you left your gun at home.”

The footsteps paused, then his dad’s voice called back. “No, Stiles. I came straight here after my shift ended. It’s on my belt, like usual.”

Stiles whimpered, slumping back against Peter’s chest as he asked loudly. “Okay, but like...can you leave it holstered? Pretty please? I’ve seriously been through a lot tonight and I don’t need to add _seeing someone get shot_ to that list.”

“Jesus, Stiles...” The footsteps started back up again, seeming to underline his dad’s exasperated words. “What are you even talking abou-”

And then Cora was stepping through the doorway, his dad right behind her. Noah froze, eyes widening as he took in the scene, and Stiles asked again. “Seriously, Dad...no shooting, okay? I promise we’ll explain everything, just...no bullets.”

“Oh, I’m not going to shoot him.” His dad’s voice was low and threatening and very, _very_ angry. “I’m going to arrest him. And he’s going to spend a nice long time in jail, if I have anything to say about it. Which, believe me, _I will.”_

“Okay, but like... _no.”_ Stiles sighed when his dad shot him an unimpressed look, gesturing to the table and saying. “Just sit down and eat and listen. Please. Because like, there’s a whole bunch of stuff you need to understand in order for this to make sense.” Then, hoping to entice his dad into cooperating, he added. “I had Cora order you a double bacon cheeseburger and fries.”

And that seemed to give Noah a moment’s pause. “A _real_ burger?” He asked, eyebrows winging up in surprise when Stiles nodded. “With _real_ bacon?”

“Yup.” Stiles gestured again to the table. “Please, Dad? I know you’ve been wanting to understand some stuff for like, the last year. And you’re going to now, I swear. I just need you to sit down, and eat, and like...actually listen, without interrupting or arguing or getting angry.”

Noah hummed, though he did sit down in the chair Stiles had pointed to. Cora came back from the kitchen, placing a plate with a burger and curly fries in front of him. She then moved to place an identical plate in front of Stiles. “I’ve got your milkshake, too.” She told him, then glanced at his dad and asked. “What would you like to drink, Sheriff Stilinski?”

Noah considered her for a moment, then said. “A soda of any sort is fine.”

“Be right back.” Cora promised.

After she’d left the room, Noah pinned Stiles with a hard stare. “You said _Cora._ As in, Cora Hale, who was presumed dead in the Hale fire?”

“Yeah.” Stiles admitted, shrugging a little. “Apparently she escaped and she’s been living in...” He struggled to recall the offhand comment Cora had made earlier. “I think she said Argentina? I don’t really know the details, but she’s alive, anyway.”

“Definitely not dead.” Cora agreed as she came back into the room, setting a glass of some dark-colored soda in front of Noah, then sliding a chocolate milkshake in front of Stiles. “Here’s your drinks. And I’d rather we talked about things other than me and where I’ve been and all that fun stuff. Pretty sure the whole _you-and-Peter-thing_ is more important.”

Noah snorted, then pointed at her. “Oh, I have questions for you, missy. And I’ll get to them in due time, don’t you worry about that. But, for the moment...” He turned his attention back to Stiles and Peter. “Explain, Stiles. _Now.”_

Stiles, who had just taken a _huge_ bite of his burger, made a garbled sort of noise. Peter sighed from behind him, heavy enough to ruffle his hair, then began speaking.

“The first thing you need to understand, Sheriff, is that there are things in this world you know nothing about.” Peter’s voice was calm, and even, and very matter-of-fact. Stiles didn’t think it was going to help keep his dad calm, but he did appreciate the effort. “The second thing you need to understand is that this - what’s happened between Stiles and myself - was always going to happen, and nothing in the world could have stopped it.”

Noah merely raised an eyebrow, then said flatly. “Yeah, I’m gonna need a hell of a lot more than that if you expect to make it through the evening without being handcuffed and put in the back of my car, Mr. Hale.”

Stiles finally swallowed the food he’d been chewing, then said softly. “Magic, Dad. He’s talking about _magic.”_

~*~*~*~

Peter sighed again at Stiles’ interruption. “Really, love. There are better ways to go about explaining this whole thing.”

Stiles shrugged. “I mean, maybe? Probably, even. But my dad’s not patient, and you’re going to need to cut through the bullshit and just give him the basics first. You can fill in the details later, when he starts asking questions. Right now he just needs the core info. Trust me.”

Then, Stiles took another huge bite of his burger, clearly ravenously hungry. Which was fair, all things considered.

“Eat.” He told his mate, though the order was a gentle one. “Let me talk. I’ve had years to prepare for this, after all.”

Stiles grumbled around his food, but was hungry enough not to argue at least. Peter watched him for a moment, then looked back at the sheriff. Noah was also eating, though with a bit more poise and decorum than his son. He didn’t look like he believed what Stiles had just said, either, though Peter wasn’t surprised. Humans very rarely believed in magic, even when it was right in front of their faces. They were astonishingly good at denial, he’d found.

Handy, in some instances, such as when they needed everyone to ignore glaring impossibilities, like Peter’s own lack of scars from the fire. Incredibly frustrating in others, such as when they had to convince someone that magic was real.

Still, Peter didn’t need to actually convince Noah. He just had to _show_ the man.

“Cora, if you would be so kind...” Peter raised an eyebrow at his niece, who nodded to show her willingness. “Lovely. Now, Sheriff Stilinski, as I was saying. There are things you know nothing about, and one of those things is werewolves. My niece will now demonstrate.”

Noah looked over at Cora, who obligingly went into a beta shift. Her eyes burned golden, her claws and fangs made an appearance, and her face shifted - browline and nasal bridge and jaw altering _just enough_ to create a rather dramatic effect overall. Noah choked on the food he’d been chewing, and Cora shifted back, looking a little embarrassed. Stiles made a concerned noise, but Noah waved him off while still coughing.

Once he’d caught his breath, he looked askance at Peter, blue eyes watering, and demanded. “Does your face do that, too?”

“It can.” Peter said calmly. He let his eyes burn red for a moment, then added. “I can do far more than that, though, because I’m what’s known as an alpha. It means I’m the leader of my own werewolf pack. My nephew, Derek, is also an alpha. And there’s another werewolf pack in Beacon County as well, though Satomi - the alpha - keeps the Ito pack under strict control and has for a long time. They rarely have any noteworthy interactions with anyone, staying well under the radar of humans, hunters, and other supernatural creatures.”

“Is...” Noah sounded a little hoarse, his eyes flicking to his son for a moment before he dragged them back to Peter. “Is _Stiles_ a...a...”

“A werewolf? No.” Peter shook his head, smiling slightly. “Though I offered him the bite at one point, he refused. He’s human. Mostly.”

“M- _mostly?_ What the hell does _that_ mean?”

Stiles rolled his eyes even as he took a deep drink from his milkshake. When he’d set the cup back down, he said. “Peter just means the fact that I have magic.”

Noah gasped and a quick glance down told Peter why. Stiles’ eyes were glowing, and he was holding up one hand, which had blue-and-white sparks dancing around the fingers. A moment later they were gone, and Stiles was back to looking like himself.

He shrugged, popped a curly fry into his mouth, then said around it. “Mom had magic, too, though not quite as much. She taught me some stuff when I was little, but I don’t know how much of it I really believed at the time. I’ve been learning for, like, the last eight months. I’m still _human,_ I’ve just got some fun tricks up my sleeve, that’s all.”

“I...am honestly not even surprised your mom had magic.” Noah admitted, and Peter could hear the affection in his statement; the love. Stiles laughed softly and Noah added. “Is this - the whole magic and werewolves thing - why you started with the whole, you know...”

Noah gestured towards Stiles’ face, but the teen was already shaking his head, tone exasperated and a little annoyed when he answered. “No. I mean, yeah, if I needed a boost, I could use certain metals or stones or crystals in my body jewelry to help, but like...that’s not why I _got_ them. I told you, I just...I like the whole body-mod thing. I like how they look - on other people, and on me - and I like using them to express myself. I wasn’t lying about that, Dad.”

“Okay.” Noah held up his hands in a gesture of peace, and Peter had a feeling that particular question was part of some sort of ongoing conversation between them. “I accept that. I said it was fine, and I’ve signed off on every single one you’ve wanted, and I’m not taking that back. I was just wondering if there was more to it, that’s all.”

“There’s not.” Stiles said, chin coming up and mouth set in a stubborn pout. “There’s not, and there doesn’t _need_ to be. I just like them.”

“Again, okay.” Noah sighed, then rubbed at his forehead with one hand while gesturing between Stiles and Peter with the other. “And this whole...whatever it is? Is this some magic crap?”

For a long, awkward moment there was silence. Stiles shifted in Peter’s lap, nervously fiddling with his food before shoving an exceedingly large bite into his mouth as though to make it clear that _he,_ at least, was not planning to answer this question. Cora seemed to find the ceiling suddenly and inexplicably fascinating, as though staring upwards rather than at any of the room’s other occupants might somehow distance her from the conversation. Peter, for his part, was trying to find the correct words to phrase things in. It was the sheriff who broke the silence.

Very dryly, Noah said. “Well, don’t all start explaining at once, now.”

Peter’s lips twitched up into an amused grin, then he offered. “Werewolves have something that is markedly similar to the human concept of soulmates. We simply use the term _mates_ to explain it, and it is - in some ways - a bit magic-related.”

“You’re telling me that...what, you realized my sixteen year old son is your soulmate?” Noah sounded about as skeptical as one would expect.

“Not exactly.” Peter took a measured breath, then asked carefully. “Do you remember, shortly after your wife’s death, the day I brought Stiles into the station? I’d found him wandering in the Preserve, all alone...”

Noah paled, but nodded. “Of course I remember. I was...I was still a deputy back then. You carried him in - christ, he was little back then - and I thought...god, he was limp in your arms, and filthy, and so were you, and I remember thinking he looked dead. Looked like you’d pulled him out of a ravine or something in the Preserve, and I just...my heart about stopped.”

Peter hummed agreeably, remembering how Noah’s scent had gone sharp and sour with fear that day, when he’d spotted Peter carrying his young son. “Yes, well. As you know now, Stiles was only sleeping. And I was...not pleased with you.”

“No, you weren’t.” Noah agreed, and there was a funny note to his words. His eyes narrowed as he studied Peter. “You demanded to speak to me in private, then lectured me. Told me off for not taking proper care of Stiles. I remember being halfway furious, because you were a Hale, sure, but you were just a goddamn kid. Barely twenty-one, still in college, and known for making trouble around town. But there you were, telling me I’d better stop drinking the way I had been and get myself together for my son, _or else.”_

Noah snorted a little at the memory, and it seemed to be equal parts amusement and annoyance that fueled the sound. “It was the _or else_ that really hit me. You said Stiles needed a sitter to watch him when I was working and he wasn’t in school, and that if I couldn't find one, you were sure one of your many relatives would be happy to do so. You said I needed to make sure he was eating right, and that he had clean clothes for school, and that he wasn’t disappearing off into the woods by himself like he had that day. Went off on a rant about what might have happened to him, if you hadn't found him when you did.”

Noah met Peter’s eyes and finished. “And then you told me that if you had any reason to believe I wasn’t taking care of him properly, you’d use every bit of your family’s considerable money and influence to ensure he was taken away from me and placed with someone who _would._ And while I had no idea why you cared so damn much about some kid you’d never met, I believed you.”

“You did better after that.” Peter offered softly. “I kept tabs, albeit from a distance, right up until the fire happened and I couldn't anymore. You started having Melissa McCall watch him, and that certainly worked out well. She considers him hers, and cares for him as such.”

“Yes, she does.” Noah agreed. There was a pause that stretched out for just long enough to become awkward, then the Sheriff asked. “Why did you ask if I remembered that day?”

“Peter...” Stiles’ tone was low and hissed and warning. “Don’t you _dare.”_

Ignoring him - because really, the whole point of this was to make sure Noah understood how things were and Stiles knew that - Peter answered. “That was the first time I had ever met Stiles. And it took me less than a minute to realize he was my mate.”

Rage washed over Noah’s features, unfortunate but not unexpected. “He was _nine!”_

“Yes, and I left him untouched, if you’ll recall.” Peter said pointedly. “He was a child still, and even the wolf in me understood that well enough. I saw him safely back to you, Sheriff. I did what I had to, to ensure he was being properly cared for as I didn’t like what I saw in the woods that day, or the whispers around town. But that changes nothing. He was mine then, just as he’s mine now. A mate is a permanent thing and, once we find them, we do not generally let them go. I’ve let Stiles go on _several_ occasions, but that’s done with now.”

“He’s a minor.” Noah protested, his face red and his eyes heated and dangerous. His fingers twitched, as though itching to reach for his gun. “If you’ve touched him, that’s statutory rape and you’re going to jail.”

“There’s not a jail in this country that could hold an alpha werewolf.” Peter said dryly, rolling his eyes at the theatrics. “And if you shoot me, I’ll be pissed off and inconvenienced, but it certainly won’t kill me. It won’t even hurt for more than a minute or two. So I’d suggest you reconsider your options here.”

“Dad...” Stiles’ tone was soft and pleading. Both Peter and Noah looked at him, and Peter noted he had turned the full force of those wide fawn eyes on his father. “I...I love him.” Stiles cheeks heated with embarrassment and his voice wavered, but his heartbeat was steady. “And this was always going to happen. If...if not for the fire, it would have happened _sooner,_ probably, and Peter would have had Talia - who was the alpha at the time - help explain things to you. I know it’s hard to understand, but like... _werewolves._ And magic and shit. The rules are a little different.”

Noah slumped back into his chair, looking weary now. Older. More tired. _Defeated._ “Hell, kiddo...I don’t understand how you wound up mixed up in this to start with. Is it because you’re his...his _mate_ or whatever? Is it because _you’re_ magic?”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know how it all works, honestly. I was always magic, so maybe I would have wound up in this world even if I’d never met Peter. But once I met him, it was a given because I’m his mate. The how and when were a little hazy, but it was going to happen, one way or another. And Dad, I _want_ this. I _want_ to be a part of this. Part of Peter’s pack, and part of the supernatural world. It’s in my blood.”

“What about your friends?”

Peter could hear the desperation on Noah’s words now; knew the man was grasping at straws, in a futile attempt to stop this. And that was fine. Peter let it happen. Left it up to Stiles to deal with it, because it wasn’t his place. If Noah was going to be convinced to release Stiles to him, it would be Stiles who did the convincing. Nothing else would do.

“Scott’s a werewolf.” Stiles explained, shrugging when his dad gaped at him. “Melissa knows, so you can talk to her about stuff, if you need to. Allison’s family - the Argents - are traditionally werewolf hunters. Chris is mostly retired, but Allison is learning because she thinks it’s important to have the skills, even if she doesn’t take up the mantle of Argent Matriarch. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac are werewolves. Jackson is...”

Stiles hesitated, making a face, then said. “Uh, well. He’s _mostly_ a werewolf, but he was a weird lizard-thing called a kanima first, and he still has some weird hybrid-type traits so we’re not really sure _what_ he is now, actually. The Hales are born werewolves, while the others were all bitten. So like, my whole friend-group is kind of supernatural. Hell, even Scott’s boss is a Druid, and he’s the one who’s been teaching me magic.”

Noah sighed, scrubbing his hands roughly over his face. “Seriously, Stiles?” When his son just shrugged again, he said. “What about Danny? And Lydia? They’re both human, right?”

“Yes.” Stiles agreed, nodding.

“Actually...” Peter chimed in, earning a groan from Noah and a confused look from Stiles. “While it’s true that Danny is human, his family is about half wolves. Danny happens to be one of the ones who was born human, but he’s fully enmeshed in the supernatural world and has been since birth, much like the human-born Hales have always been.”

He hesitated for a moment, not sure if he should reveal this next thing, before deciding there was little enough harm in it. “And Lydia Martin is a born banshee. When I bit her at the dance, it activated her powers. She’ll be slow to develop them unless circumstances force the issue, or she actively works at it, but she definitely has them. Much like you, Stiles...it’s in her blood.”

“Dude, what the fuck.” Stiles had spun halfway around on his lap to gape at him. “Is that why the kanima venom didn’t do anything to her? And why she didn’t become a werewolf after you bit her? I wondered why you chose her to assist with your resurrection, but if she’s a _banshee,_ that makes so much sense.” Stiles eyes moved rapidly from side-to-side, like he was reading through something in his memory. “They can cross the veil between life and death. That’s how you did it, isn’t it? By tapping into her powers.”

“Resurrection?”

Stiles winced, then looked back at his dad. “Ah...ye-e-es?” He said haltingly, before giving his dad a somewhat dubiously reassuring smile. “Peter was kind of...dead? But like, only briefly! And he’s obviously better now.”

“Better.” Noah said dryly, looking resigned and also supremely unimpressed. “How, exactly, does someone get _better_ from being dead?”

“With magic, obviously.” Peter drawled, lips twitching up into a grin when Stiles smacked him on the arm in admonishment. Laughing, he chided. “Now, Stiles. I’m only being honest. While I could take the time to detail everything I did - and everything it entailed - the short, simple answer is, in fact, _magic._ ”

He looked back at Noah, adding softly. “There have been surprisingly few ill effects of my resurrection, and they were thankfully short-lived. I have recovered fully from my untimely demise and have no plans to repeat the experience any time soon. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Did she actually die?” Noah demanded, pointing at Cora. “Do I have to worry about other random dead people coming back?”

“I didn’t die.” Cora said softly, regret and sorrow painting themselves across her face for a moment before she got control of herself. “I _ran._ I was young, and terrified, and I had both the strength and the skills to run, so I did. Very, very far away, to people I knew had been my mother’s allies and who I believed would help me. They did. It’s only recently I found out there were Hales in Beacon Hills again, and I came running back. Family - _pack_ \- means everything to a wolf. If I hadn't been so young, I would never have run the way I did.”

“Hey...” Stiles reached out, stretching himself as far as he could - until only Peter’s hands on his waist kept him from toppling right off the alpha’s lap - and gripped Cora’s hand. “You were a _kid,_ okay? You were a kid, and you were scared out of your damn mind, and you honestly believed you’d just lost your entire pack. I went a little crazy after losing _just my mom._ I wasn’t in a good headspace for a long time after she died, and I know I did some stupid, reckless stuff. What you went through...no one blames you for running away. I promise.”

“Maybe.” Cora jerked one shoulder roughly. “But not being blamed doesn’t erase the guilt I feel over it. Over the possibility of how things might have been different, if I had been braver.”

There was a long, awkward pause, then Cora slid her hand out from under Stiles’ and stood up. She inclined her head to Noah, then to Peter and Stiles, then said. “I’ve had a long day, and I’m not good company just now. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to bed.”

Noah and Stiles murmured goodnights, then Peter said softly. “If it becomes too much for you here, remember that Derek has extended an open invitation to you. Even if all you need is a little space from me and the house, don’t be afraid to go to him. He’s your brother and he won’t ever turn you away.”

Cora moved closer to them, leaning down to nuzzle her cheek against first Stiles’ and then Peter’s, and it warmed something in Peter’s chest. Not that she scented him, because even if she chose Derek as an alpha, she would likely _always_ scent Peter. They were, after all, blood. But for her to scent his newly claimed mate...that meant something, and they both knew it. It meant she was leaning towards choosing Peter as her alpha. And even if she _didn’t,_ it meant the world to him that she was, at the very least, genuinely considering the possibility.

He watched her go, then sighed and turned his attention back to Noah Stilinski. “Sheriff...” He said, and his tone was pleasant and respectful but it was also very firm. “I understand that this is a lot for you to take in. Believe me when I say that, if I could have, I would have done this whole thing very differently. But circumstances beyond my control affected how things played out and, because of that, you’re going to have to accept certain things a lot faster than you’d probably like.”

“You mean the fact that my underage son is your mate.” Noah said, tired and annoyed and clearly torn between fighting about it and just giving in. “And the fact that I should very obviously be placing you in handcuffs for statutory rape, though that’s not really an option. And I understand why it’s not an option, at least a little, but I’m not happy a grown man touched my son.”

“And I’m certain it does very little to reassure you or soothe you, knowing that - due to those previously mentioned circumstances - your son remained untouched for nearly four years longer than he would have otherwise.” Peter watched anger and disgust flash across Noah’s face and inclined his head in understanding, ignoring Stiles’ miserable sounds of protest. “But I want you to understand that certain things are very different for born wolves than they are for humans, or even bitten wolves.”

He did his best to explain, though some things there weren’t really proper words for. It was simply how things _were,_ as far as werewolves were concerned. “Once they’re found, the claiming of a mate isn’t something we put off or delay, except in very specific and extreme circumstances. Allowing Stiles to reach adolescence before claiming him would have been the very limit of those circumstances, in my case. He’s well past that now, and I was _still_ able to resist for several months, in an effort to stabilize my own position so that I could better provide for and protect him during the bonding period that follows a claiming. I am doing my best to ensure he is safe and happy, and I would appreciate your cooperation in regards to seeing that this whole transition goes as smoothly as possible, all things considered.”

“You certainly know how to make a man feel like he should listen to you.” Noah grumbled, looking put out by this fact. “You managed to make me feel like I was a failure as a father all those years ago, and I’ll admit now I needed that. Was grateful for it, even, once I got past the shame. I figure I owe you something for that. For making sure I stopped seeing my own grief long enough to see _Stiles_ again; to remember that he still needed me.”

“Dad...” Stiles voice was tight and his scent had soured at the edges, sadness and guilt layering themselves over it. “I don’t blame you for how you were back then. _Nobody_ blamed you, except maybe Peter, but that was just his wolf reacting to _me._ You’d just lost-”

Stiles voice broke and he had to take several slow, careful breaths before he could continue. “It was still fresh.” He said at last, the altered word-choice speaking volumes. “You were hurting and trying to find your way through the grief. Even back then, I didn’t blame you. I wasn’t angry or upset with you. I just...I was grieving, too. I missed Mom. I still do. Even if Peter hadn't said anything, you’d have sorted yourself out. I believe that.”

“Maybe.” Noah allowed, and his age was showing now; the strain from years of public service, and raising a child alone, and the loss of his wife, was etched into every line of his face. “But that doesn’t change me feeling like I owe Mr. Hale here something of a debt, or that it’s in regards to _you._ Given that...” He sighed, shoulders drooping, and Peter knew he’d won this round. “What, exactly, happens next?”

“I won’t be able to allow Stiles to be more than a few feet from me for roughly the next twenty-four hours. And even that I’ll only allow if we’re alone, _and_ I feel he is utterly secure, _and_ there is no way he could possibly go anywhere.” Peter nodded towards his lap, and the way Stiles was still perched there, once again picking at his curly fries. “Mostly, I will need to remain in constant physical contact with him until some time tomorrow evening.”

Noah nodded slowly. “Which means he won’t be able to go to school.”

Stiles shrugged. “I tried telling him I had to go to school, but you can see how well that went over, considering I _also_ said I should be sitting on a separate chair when you walked in. I’m not winning any arguments today, I guess.”

“If you want to win an argument, you need to be _right.”_ Peter said smugly, ignoring the nasty look Stiles shot him. “I staked my claim, Stiles, but our bond isn’t yet cemented. That will take a little more time. A full week, before it’s settled into itself enough for me to feel properly confident about it, and I’ll need to keep Stiles quite close for the duration of that bonding period. But I _should_ be able to release him for school hours after tomorrow, though the urge to check on Stiles during that time will be...very hard to resist.”

Stiles snickered, then teased. “You could always ask Derek for tips on how to lurk around the high school like a goddamn serial killing creeper. He certainly has it down pat.”

“Who do you think he learned it from?” Peter asked, laughing when Stiles startled and shot him an incredulous look. “I was very fond of my nephew, Stiles. My nieces too, to an extent, though Derek was always my favorite. I often looked in on him while he was at school.”

Peter’s face fell as he added lowly. “I will never forgive myself for not seeing what was happening between him and Kate. I was his best friend. I should have seen it. Would have, I’m sure, had I not been so caught up in-”

He cut himself off, a moment too late for it to do any good. Recognition dawned on Stiles’ face and he looked _horrified._ “Oh my god. You...you were distracted _by me._ If...if I hadn't been in the woods that day, when I wasn’t supposed to be, you wouldn’t have been. You’d have been looking out for _Derek,_ rather than trying to watch over _me._ ”

Peter heard the change in Stiles’ heart rate. Heard the way Stiles’ throat clicked dryly as he swallowed hard before he rasped. “If I’d stayed out of the woods that day...oh, god. It’s all my fault, isn’t it? You...you _and_ Talia were so focused on how to handle your mate being as young as I was, so Kate’s interactions with Derek went unnoticed.”

“You will _not_ blame yourself for what that bitch did.” Peter snarled, eyes burning red and the low timbre of _alpha_ creeping into his voice. “Talia was the alpha. She was more than capable of watching over _all_ of her pack members, and dealing with various and assorted crises. She was no more distracted than normal. And I...I was not meant to be Derek’s keeper. I was his friend, yes, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t often off doing my own thing; living my own life. Kate’s actions are on her and her alone, and I have _never_ blamed any in our pack - least of all my soft-hearted nephew - for what she did. I have only ever blamed _her.”_

He locked gazes with Stiles and added fiercely. “I have no doubt that, if I hadn't met you, I would have noticed what she was up to. I also have no doubt that she would have managed the fire anyway, as she was clever and deadly and determined. And I would not change the fact that I knew who my mate was _before_ the loss of my pack. Not for anything. The thought of you was a great comfort, while I was healing. _You_ were my coma-dream, Stiles. You’re the only thing that helped me retain any bit of who I’d been _before_ the fire.”

He cupped Stiles’ cheek and added solemnly. “You are a gift, Stiles. You have _always_ been a gift, and I swear I would not change anything about the day we met. Not even if I could.”

~*~*~*~

Stiles’ heart was pounding and he sort of desperately wished his dad wasn’t in the room because he wanted _so badly_ to kiss Peter. And then it occurred to him that he _hadn't._ Not really, anyway. And it wasn’t like his dad wasn’t aware they’d had sex. It hadn't been confirmed, outright, but his dad _knew._ So really, what was the point in pretending otherwise?

Decision made, Stiles leaned in and pressed his mouth to Peter’s. Softly, because that was what the moment called for. And also because the twin metal hoops piercing his lip wouldn’t be fun to have crushed between their teeth if he just...slammed their mouths together. So he kissed Peter softly, just letting their mouths slide lightly against each other. Their lips were both parted, the smallest amount of shared breath passing between them, and Stiles felt a little lightheaded. From the shared air, from the kiss, from _Peter..._ he supposed it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was the soft way Peter was kissing him, and the achingly gentle way Peter cradled Stiles’ face with his strong hands, holding him as though he was infinitely precious. He supposed that, to Peter, he actually was. 

Drawing back from the kiss - and panting _just a little_ over it - Stiles whispered. “I love you too, Peter.” 

His dad pointedly cleared his throat and Stiles blushed, but he raised his chin defiantly as he turned to meet his dad’s eyes. “What?” He demanded. “He called me a gift, Dad. It would’ve been rude not to kiss him.”

Noah rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. “You’re insane, son.” He then looked back at Peter. “Am I assuming correctly that you want Stiles to stay here with you for the rest of this...what did you call it again? A bonding period?”

“It would be best, as having Stiles in my den will help the bond settle further.” Peter agreed, nuzzling the spot behind Stiles’ ear for a moment before hooking his chin over Stiles’ shoulder and continuing. “If you’d like him home at some point, of course I’ll understand that. I would simply have to accompany him. Alternately, if you’d like to come here for dinner, or simply to spend some time with Stiles during this week, you’re more than welcome to. As my mate’s father, you’re automatically pack as well.”

“At least you’re smart enough to know not to try to keep my son from me.” Noah scrubbed at his face, then asked. “And after the week? What happens then?”

Stiles froze, because he hadn't thought to ask that. And he had no idea what Peter was about to say. He would have turned to look at the alpha, but Peter’s chin was still hooked over his shoulder so there was no way he could. Instead, he waited, barely daring to breathe, because if his dad didn’t like whatever answer Peter gave...that would be it. Game over. Noah wouldn’t be able to keep them apart, not ultimately, but he could make things a hell of a lot harder on them for the next year and a half, until Stiles turned eighteen.

“I’d like him to spend at least a few nights a week with me.” Peter said simply. “On school nights, I’d expect he and Cora - who will be starting school tomorrow - to do homework together, and I’d ask that - when he’s here - he drive her, at least until I’ve had a chance to get her a car. I’m happy to schedule those nights around your night-shift schedule, so as to keep Stiles from being alone at night. I’d also like to spend at least a few nights a month with Stiles at your place, as having my scent laid there will act as a deterrent to other supernaturals.”

“How many nights each week is a few?”

Stiles felt it as Peter shrugged behind him. “At least three. Four, perhaps, depending on scheduling and such. As I said, I don’t like the idea of him being alone at night. Stiles’ safety and well-being is my top priority, and Beacon Hills has proven itself dangerous to him in recent months.”

Noah’s face clearly said he wasn’t thrilled with what Peter was suggesting. “Half. You want Stiles to spend _half the week_ at your house.”

Peter hummed softly, then said. “Think of it as shared custody, Sheriff. Stiles is my mate. That is to say that, as far as the supernatural community is concerned, he is my _husband._ Half the week with me is hardly an unreasonable thing, considering.”

“Probably not the best way to have phrased that.” Stiles muttered, and he could feel it as Peter stifled a laugh behind him. Then, he sighed and said to his dad. “You’ve said for years that you hate leaving me alone at night. If Melissa didn’t work just as many overnights as you do these days, you’d have had me at Scott’s house all the time at night, like the way you guys split who had us at night when we were still in middle school. There’s no reason to make a big deal out of it. Just...think of it in practical terms.”

“As opposed to thinking about the fact that my _sixteen year old son_ is somehow magically married to a creature that shouldn’t exist, who wants scheduled conjugal time, you mean?” Noah’s tone was flat, but Stiles could hear the edge of amusement in it and felt relief wash over him.

“I mean, whatever makes it easier on you.” Stiles agreed. Relaxing back against Peter at last, he added softly. “I love you, Dad. And I’m sorry my life is so crazy, but I don’t think I would change it even if I could. It’s too much a part of who I am; who I was always meant to be.”

Noah nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that, kiddo.” He sighed again, then picked up his burger and took another bite before saying. “At least I got real food out of this.”

Stiles bristled a little at that. “Vegetables are real food!” He protested, glaring. “And they won’t clog your arteries the way all the crap you try to eat will.”

“Maybe, but bacon doesn’t taste like defeat.” Noah rejoined, smirking as he took another bite.

Peter huffed out a laugh against Stiles’ ear and Stiles growled at him. “Don’t you _dare_ side with my dad on this, Peter. I’ve got a vicious streak wider than yours, trust me. You do _not_ want to have me pissed off at you.”

Noah nodded, sympathy flashing across his face. “He’s right about that, actually. Claudia was the same way. Sweet and loving and the most generous soul you’d ever meet, but lord help you if you crossed her. She all but turned into a demon, the way she changed when she was pissed off. Stiles got that temper from her.”

“You know...” Peter said thoughtfully, and Stiles was instantly wary. “I could bite your father for you, Stiles. He could eat as much bacon as he wanted to, then. And you’d have less to worry about, in terms of his line of work. Not even a bullet would be an issue for him. Supernatural law enforcement officers are a huge benefit to the town, honestly.”

“What?”

Noah’s voice was a hoarse, confused rasp. Seconds later, Stiles shrieked. _“What?!”_

Peter sighed when Stiles started squirming, but obligingly allowed him to turn. When Stiles was once again seated sideways across his alpha’s lap, he stared at Peter with narrowed eyes. “If you think for _one second_ that I’d allow this...” Stiles hissed, fury climbing his throat like bile. “It could _kill_ him!”

“Yes, it could.” Peter agreed, voice soft. “But I doubt it would. He’s strong, despite being older than the optimum age for turning a person. I wouldn’t offer if I thought it would end that way. Surely you know that, Stiles. I would never purposely do something that would cause you pain. I just thought you might worry less, if he were a bit sturdier.”

Stiles mouth moved silently for several moments, then he shot a considering look at his dad. It was true that he didn’t like the risk inherent in the bite...but it was also true that it would be something of a relief if his dad had werewolf healing. He licked his lips, then asked. “Is...is there any way to make it a sure thing? A spell or something, to help the bite take better?”

Peter’s brow furrowed as he considered it. “Not strictly speaking, but I’d imagine we could rig something together. A protection spell blended with something designed to promote good health and strength of will would minimize the risks considerably.”

Stiles nodded, already thinking about what he’d need to do just that. “I could have something set up in a couple of days, probably.”

“Hey now, don’t I get a say in this?”

Stiles winced, then looked over at his dad, who had sounded annoyed. “I mean, of course. I just...it’s not a bad idea. You’d be stronger, and faster. You’d heal from pretty much _anything.”_ And Stiles knew he was practically begging, but he didn’t care. “And you’d live a lot longer, too. I wouldn’t have to worry so much about you. You’d be _completely_ healthy, and I...I wouldn’t lose you. Not for a really long time.”

Peter cleared his throat. “This doesn’t need to be decided right now.” When Stiles started to protest, Peter’s voice went stern. “Your father has absorbed a lot tonight, Stiles. It’s not fair, asking him to make this choice on top of everything else he’s trying to adjust to. He has a right to think about it.”

Peter cut his eyes to Noah, adding. “Perhaps you can give me your answer when the bonding period is done. If you want the bite, we can do it then. That would be better anyway, as I would be unavailable to assist you through the change - as would Stiles - if I did it now. And if you don’t want it, I won’t bring it up again. Should you change your mind, however, I would be happy to oblige. The choice is entirely in your hands. If you have any questions, you can ask. Me, or - if you’d rather - Derek. Or even one of the younger, bitten wolves, if you’d like to know about what the change is like. I’m sure Stiles can arrange for you to talk to one or more of them about it.”

His dad seemed to study Peter for a moment, then looked at him, clearly uncertain. Still, something of the worry Stiles always felt at the thought of losing his dad must have shown on his face, because Noah nodded and said. “I’ll think about it, kiddo. No promises, but...I’ll think about it.” He sighed, then added. “And we’ll figure out the whole _custody arrangement_ thing, too. For now, let’s just get through this next week.”

That, Stiles decided, was _more_ than fair.

~*~*~*~

Peter finished up in the bathroom - brushing his teeth, and his fangs, and using the facilities - and joined Stiles in his bedroom. His teenage mate was curled up under the blankets, sleeping soundly, just as he had been since shortly after his father left.

Once an initial agreement had been reached regarding the upcoming week, Stiles and Noah had both seemed content to pretend nothing unusual was happening. The Stilinski men had finished their food, talking quietly about Stiles’ schoolwork and Noah’s schedule for the week. When they were both done, Noah had politely excused himself. Cora had reappeared, as though by magic, and escorted him back through the large house, to the front door and outside. Peter, in turn, had carried Stiles upstairs and settled him into the bed. It hadn't more than a few minutes for Stiles to fall asleep, and Peter had been loathe to leave him but he hadn't had much of a choice. So he’d locked Stiles in the room, ordered Cora to watch over him, and headed out of the house.

In his alpha-shift, it hadn't taken him long at all to get back to the clearing where he had claimed Stiles as his mate. He’d gathered up Stiles’ things - his costume, his phone, his keys - then retraced their run through the forest until he was back at his own things, in the forest just beyond Derek’s loft. Peter had shifted back to human, thrown on his clothes and shoes, then returned to his Ferrari. The drive back to the rebuilt Hale house hadn't taken long at all, mostly because Peter had little care for the speed limit. Getting back to Stiles as quickly as possible was his only concern, traffic laws be damned.

Once back at the house, Peter had ordered Cora to bed, reminding her that - unlike Stiles - she had school in the morning. He’d told her she could take the Ferrari - _just this once -_ because he wouldn’t be able to leave Stiles to take her, and he had no desire to rouse his mate so early when Stiles didn’t need to be at school. Cora had made some noise about the whole thing - she had no desire to attend high school - but being allowed to drive Peter’s car was a strong incentive not to bitch about going to school and they both knew it.

Once that was done, Peter had let himself back into his room, where Stiles was still asleep. Peter had set his mate’s costume on a chair, placed Stiles’ phone and keys on the nightstand that was on the side of the bed Stiles had apparently claimed for himself, and then gotten ready for bed.

And now that all was said and done, Peter gratefully slid into bed beside Stiles. He couldn't help the rumbling purr that built in his chest when Stiles immediately gravitated towards him, even in his sleep. He pulled the lanky teen in close, curling his body around Stiles’ back and burying his nose in Stiles’ hair. Peter closed his eyes, savoring the heat and warmth of his mate. His, at last, after far longer than most wolves had to wait.

Stiles was _his._

Peter couldn't have asked for anything more.

~*~*~*~

Stiles twitched, his body shifting restlessly as his mind struggled towards consciousness. He couldn't quite recall what he’d been dreaming about, but he felt _good._ Warm, and safe. He shifted again, his breath hitching in his throat as a wave of pleasure washed over him. His brain was still sleep-fogged, but Stiles fought through it and opened his eyes with a startled gasp, his back arching as pleasure skated along his nerves again. He looked down the length of his own body even as his hands fisted in the sheets under him, meeting burning red eyes.

He watched as Peter’s tongue slicked itself over the head of his cock again, then groaned and let his head fall back as the alpha proceeded to swallow him down to the hilt. Stiles’ heels dug into the mattress, hips bucking only to be pinned back down by Peter’s strong hands. And _fuck,_ but Peter knew what he was doing. His mouth was hot, and wet, and _so fucking perfect._ He seemed to know just what to do with his tongue; how to make Stiles’ eyes roll back in his head in ecstasy. Then one of Peter’s hands was sliding along his crack, slicked up fingers easing into him. And Stiles moaned, and writhed, and begged Peter for more even as he spilled himself into the alpha’s mouth.

And then Peter was surging up his body, catching Stiles’ lips in a filthy-hot kiss that tasted salty and bitter and _so_ obscene. Stiles clutched at Peter’s hair, and licked his way into the werewolf’s mouth, chasing his own flavor. Peter rumbled at him as Stiles used his tongue stud to tease Peter’s tongue and palate, and Stiles was torn between focusing his attention on Peter’s mouth...or on Peter’s delightfully questing fingers, which were still stretching him open.

“I’m ready.” He gasped against Peter’s mouth, pulling sharply on Peter’s thick hair to underline the command. “Peter, come on. I want you in me _now.”_

And god help him, but he _did._ He was already hard again, and aching for it. Wanted to feel Peter’s cock moving inside him _properly,_ because as much as he had loved the feel of the alpha werewolf’s knot stretching him to his limits the night before, it wasn’t as though he’d had his ass pounded the way he’d always imagined. The knot had sort of complicated matters, further than Peter’s general half-wolfy shape already had. Now...now, he wanted Peter to fuck him like this. As a _man,_ rather than as an alpha.

Stiles already knew he’d want that again, of course. Knew that, probably fairly soon, he would demand Peter shift and take him that way again. But first...first, he wanted _this._

Peter’s fingers were gone, and the heated pressure of his cock replaced them, and then Stiles was keening and clawing at Peter’s shoulders as the older man slid inside in one long, slow push. Stiles was panting, his cock leaking wetly across skin where it was caught between their bellies. Peter was mouthing along Stiles’ jaw, teeth and tongue and lips tracing the edge of it as he murmured praise against Stiles’ skin.

“So tight...” Peter said, even as he began to thrust. “God, Stiles, you’re so perfect. Hot, and sweet, and everything I ever wanted. You fit me so well...made just for my cock...so pretty, with all this metal through your skin...”

Stiles let out a sound halfway between a moan and a laugh as Peter’s cock slid roughly in and out of him, tipping his head to the side as the alpha’s mouth continued down his neck. “G-glad you like the piercings.” He managed around a gasp, adding. “Gonna get more, eventually.”

“Perfect.” Peter growled, ducking his head to drag his tongue over one of Stiles’ nipples. When Stiles moaned again, he raised his head and locked gazes with Stiles. _“Here._ I want you pierced _here,_ so I can tease you with them. Lick and suck and tug on them...drive you _mad_ with pleasure from it...”

“F- _fuck...nggggh,_ Peter, _yessss...”_ Stiles hissed as Peter’s head dipped down again, teeth closing over the nipple he’d just licked. The pain grew sharp and Stiles cried out, even as he realized that Peter had let his fangs out to play.

Weakly, he mumbled. “C-can’t. Not until...state law, it says eighteen...”

Peter lifted his head again, licking his lips, and Stiles chanced a look down, just to be sure there wasn’t any blood. But Peter had taken care, just like he had the night before. His nipple was red, and tender, but there was no broken skin. “I’ll pierce you myself, if you want it done sooner.” Peter told him fiercely, his eyes a steady, burning red now. “Whatever you want, love. Anything.”

“You.” Stiles moaned. “K-kiss me. Please.”

Peter’s fangs receded as he leaned down and Stiles whined, shaking his head. “N-no! No, Peter, don’t...please, like that. W-with your fangs.”

“Christ, you really are perfect, aren’t you?” Peter asked, tone wondering.

He obligingly let the beta-shift slide over him, and Stiles thought this just might be perfect. It was the best of everything; a little of both halves of Peter’s nature. Claws pricked lightly at his skin as Peter captured Stiles’ wrists, pinning them to the mattress on either side of his head. Peter’s hard cock fucked in and out of him, slow and steady _,_ like a maddening tease that drove Stiles’ arousal higher with every thrust.

And then there was Peter’s mouth against his, not lining up properly at all because of the way it pulled forward just a little around his fangs. It wasn’t a muzzle, not quite, but it wasn’t the same as a human mouth, either. And then there were the fangs themselves, sharp and dangerous as they pressed into the soft fullness of Stiles’ lips. They caught against the twin hoops piercing his lower lip, tugging just a little, and there was the softest little _click_ of sound every time Stiles’ tongue darted out to trace down those deadly sharp points, when the metal ball of his tongue stud tapped against them.

Stiles’ second orgasm built slowly. It swept up his body like a tide, rising with every movement of Peter’s hips. It swelled higher, and higher, with Stiles doing his best to ride out the waves of pleasure as they washed over him. The coiling tension climbed inside him, in a way he’d never experienced before, and Stiles clung to it with greedy hands. He strained against Peter’s restraining grip, savoring the way his wrists ached from the bruising hold and the bright pinpricks of pain that marked where Peter’s claws were. He wrapped his legs around Peter’s waist and arched into every thrust as Peter’s tempo began to speed up; as he fucked into Stiles’ body harder and faster with each passing minute.

Stiles reveled in the way Peter’s fangs felt against his mouth. Loved the sharp, almost-painful drag of them against his tongue as he kissed Peter harder than was probably wise, considering. He couldn't even be bothered to worry when the taste of copper flooded across both their tongues as Stiles’ lip split beneath the pressure, or perhaps sliced itself open on one of those too-sharp points, he wasn’t actually sure. Didn’t even _care,_ honestly, because Peter was growling, and fucking him harder, and the pleasure was cresting, at last.

Stiles broke with it, sobbing into Peter’s mouth as he painted both their stomachs with sticky-wet heat, arching up into the older man’s hold. He was still trembling and panting when Peter nuzzled his way into Stiles’ throat a moment later, then sank teeth into the spot where his neck met his shoulder. Stiles let out a choked-off sort of scream, pain chasing the tingling aftershocks of pleasure along his nerves. Peter stilled above him, hips grinding deep as he growled around his mouthful of Stiles’ flesh and spilled himself in the tight clutch of Stiles’ body.

When he relaxed his jaw several heartbeats later and proceeded to lick at the area with a rumbling sort of purr, the heated throbbing in the area and the stinging sensation as Peter’s tongue rasped over the damage made Stiles keenly aware of what had happened.

“Y-you...” He gasped out, his brain trying hard to reboot in the wake of the pain-pleasure overload it had just endured. “You _broke skin.”_

Peter rumbled again, then lifted his head enough to meet Stiles’ eyes. Peter had blood on his lips and teeth, Stiles noticed. _His_ blood. His stomach twisted up on itself, uneasy and uncertain and full of dread.

“Shhh...” Peter soothed, leaning in to rub his cheek against Stiles’ even as his hands finally relaxed their manacled grip on Stiles’ wrists, stroking soothingly over the pale skin that would no doubt bruise before long. “Hush, pet. I would never turn you without asking. You’re still human.”

Stiles licked his own lips, the lower one protesting the movement as it reopened the break in that thin skin. With the liquid taste of copper once again coating his tongue, Stiles said. “Swear it. Swear I’m still human, Peter.”

“I swear it.” Peter agreed easily, and Stiles’ heart rate finally began to slow. Then, smirking down at him, Peter added. “I bit you with my human teeth.”

Stiles blinked, then asked. “Why?”

Peter’s tongue rasped over the torn skin again, making Stiles whine in pain and thrash a little beneath him, trying to get away. Peter’s solid weight pressed down on him - held him still - as he said against Stiles’ skin. “Because you’re mine now, Stiles. You’re _mine,_ and you’ll bear a scar proving as much. Those are _my_ teeth marks set into the base of your lovely throat. Even if they couldn't smell me on you, any supernatural creature who sees the scar you’ll have will instantly know you belong to someone. To _me.”_

“You’re insane.” Stiles panted at him, but his touch was gentle as he ran his fingers through Peter’s thick, soft hair. He didn’t protest as Peter’s mouth continued worrying at the injury, though it was distinctly unpleasant for Stiles to have such a fresh wound prodded at over and over again, even if it _was_ with lips and tongue.

Peter didn’t say anything, and Stiles let it go. Because yes, the alpha werewolf was clearly nuts, but he belonged to Stiles and that was all that mattered. So Stiles let Peter do what his instincts wanted him to, and bore it with as much grace as he could, considering the pain. And honestly, it made him feel a little soft and warm, right around his heart, that Peter was so desperate to let the world know that Stiles was _his._

When Peter was - apparently - satisfied, he rolled to one side, sliding out of Stiles’ body at the same time and making the teen wrinkle his nose in disgust. “Okay, we need to start using condoms because the grossness is getting old, fast.”

Peter huffed out a laugh even as he shifted Stiles into the position he wanted, spooning him once again. “Never going to happen, pet. I want you to smell like me, inside and out.”

 _“Gross.”_ Stiles said pointedly, though he snuggled back into Peter’s embrace and yawned, settling down despite the increasingly tacky feeling between his legs. “Why am I still tired, oh my god.”

“Our bond is forming.” Peter explained, his nose pressed against the spot just behind Stiles’ left ear, breathing him in over and over. “That’s going to wear on you, at least at first. You’ll feel better by tomorrow morning. Possibly even by tonight, though that’s not a guarantee.” He paused, then added softly. “Rest, pet. I’ll feed you in a little while.”

“M’kay.” Stiles mumbled, eyes already closed as he easily drifted back off, safe and warm in Peter’s strong arms.

~*~*~*~

If someone had asked Stiles the day before what he thought the _bonding period_ looked like, after a werewolf claimed their mate...well, he honestly wasn’t sure what he would have said. But he was fairly sure he would have been _wildly_ off-base.

His first day as Peter’s claimed mate involved a lot of sleeping, which Stiles was okay with in large part because he so rarely got to sleep for an extended, uninterrupted stretch of time. It was a luxury he deeply appreciated. It also involved a lot of orgasms, as any time he was awake, Peter seemed intent on sexing him up. Which, again, Stiles was _not_ complaining about. Because Peter’s mouth was wonderfully talented, and his cock was one of Stiles’ favorite things _ever,_ and the feel of the alpha’s body surrounding _his_ cock had been mind-blowing, even without factoring in the way Peter had looked while riding him. And because Stiles had been _really eager_ to see what all the fuss was about, when it came to sex, for a while.

He definitely got it now.

And hell, if Allison was even half as good at sex as Peter was, Stiles could _totally_ understand why his best friend had always been so ready to instantly forgive the huntress for any and all trangressions. Short of the man killing his father, Stiles was pretty positive there was nothing he wouldn’t forgive Peter for at this point. Peter could probably try to kill _him_ and he’d forgive the man, provided an orgasm or two happened somewhere along the way.

He tried to tell himself this made him practical, rather than pathetic. Stiles wasn’t sure if he believed himself, but he figured that was okay, too. Honestly, he felt _so good_ at this point that _anything_ would have been okay with him.

The bedroom door opened and Peter walked in, carrying a tray of food. Because the alpha had also taken to feeding him _in bed_ over the course of the day. Stiles thought it was sweet, but he also knew that part of the reason for it was because Peter wouldn’t let him leave the bedroom. He was allowed into the en-suite bath, but that was it. And every time Peter left to get food, he locked Stiles into the room. He’d have protested that, but Stiles imagined it was expected behavior for the situation. And - considering how much of his family he’d lost - it was also somewhat expected in a Peter-specific sense, too. 

As Peter set the tray next to him, Stiles noticed the coiled length of an electronics cord and all but lunged for it. “You got my charger!”

“I sent Cora to get your jeep, so you’ll have it for school in the morning.” Peter admitted softly. “I told her that if she saw a charger to grab it, so...”

“Thanks.” Stiles was already leaning halfway off the bed, ignoring the food in favor of stretching his arm behind the nightstand so he could plug the cord into the wall. His phone had been dead by this morning and he’d been going a little stir-crazy, not being able to reach anyone or check his social media.

He straightened up, plugging the other end into his phone, grinning as the black screen lit up faintly and a flashing battery symbol appeared. It would be a little while still before he’d be able to turn the thing on and use it, but that was okay. He set it on the nightstand and turned to see what Peter had brought him to eat this time. Breakfast had been pancakes and bacon and fresh fruit. Lunch had been a personal sub sandwich, chips, potato salad, and pickle spears. Because providing for his mate was some sort of alpha-instinct, from what Stiles recalled of his research. 

Dinner didn’t disappoint. There was a fresh salad: romaine lettuce and spinach, cherry tomatoes, cucumber, shredded carrot, chunks of chicken, a sprinkling of parmesan cheese, and a drizzling of Italian dressing. There was a mug-bowl of tomato soup, and a grilled cheese sandwich that Stiles could see contained at least three types of cheese _and_ bacon. There was a bottle of water, another bottle of blue Gatorade, and a glass of what seemed to be some sort of smoothie; it smelled faintly fruity, anyway. Knowing what Peter wanted at this point, Stiles immediately dug in. The alpha simply sat and watched him, gaze sharp and hungry and burning red.

Stiles didn’t mind, because it was just Peter’s way of looking after him. He knew Peter wanted him again - Peter seemed to _always_ want him, actually - and he was making sure Stiles would have the energy necessary to keep up with the voracious sexual appetite of his alpha werewolf lover. He was also making sure Stiles wouldn’t get dehydrated. It was oddly sweet, knowing that Peter was so determined to take care of him.

So Stiles ate, and it was no trouble at all to consume the entire meal. He was always good at packing away food, and Peter was clearly an amazing cook. Not to mention he was actually _ravenous._ He blamed it on all of the calories he’d been burning with the near-constant sex. Plus, if the slowly forming bond was draining him enough to make him feel so constantly tired, it was probably also sucking up enough energy to require some extra caloric intake.

When he was done, Peter moved the tray to the top of the dresser across the room, then sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.” Stiles said, shrugging a little. He didn’t feel much different, honestly, other than being a little hungrier and more tired than was strictly normal. “The same, you know? I was kind of thinking it would feel _different,_ but I guess not.”

“It will, in time.” Peter assured him, tone gentle. “It already does for me, but that’s because I’m not human. Even with your magic, the bond will need to be stronger - more settled - before you can feel it properly. By morning you should start to notice it, and by the end of our week together you’ll better understand what it will be like from then on. The more time passes, the easier it will be for you to feel it. Eventually, you’ll be where I am.”

Stiles nodded, a little relieved. “Good. That’s good. I was kind of disappointed that it didn’t seem like anything had changed.”

Peter hummed, then asked. “Are you tired, pet?”

Stiles’ lips twitched up, and he shot Peter a coy look. “I mean, I am, but I’m not _too_ tired. I could be persuaded to stay up for a little longer...” He reached out, sliding his palm slowly up Peter’s strong, well-muscled thigh.

Peter, however, caught his wrist and squeezed gently, looking apologetic. “Ah, I do wish that was what I meant, love. But...we actually have company. If you’re feeling up for it, that is. If not, I’ll deal with them myself and let you rest some more.”

“Oh.” Stiles pouted, but nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m awake enough, provided they don’t plan on hanging around for, like, hours. Just pass me some clothes.” As Peter obligingly fetched him a long sleeved t-shirt and a clean pair of cotton sleep pants, Stiles asked curiously. “So who’s here, anyway? Is it my dad, or the pack, or...?”

“You’ll see.” Peter promised. He handed Stiles the clothes, then leaned in to press a kiss to Stiles’ forehead, before murmuring. “Just come downstairs when you’re dressed. We’ll be in the den.”

And before Stiles could press the issue - or ask more questions - Peter was gone. Decided the fastest and easiest way to get answers was to go see for himself, Stiles dressed quickly and headed downstairs.

~*~*~*~

“Whoa.” Stiles said, freezing in the doorway of Peter’s massive den, which was almost more like a home theater, all things considered. It was also _really fucking full._ Feeling weirdly self-conscious as all eyes snapped to him, Stiles cleared his throat and said. “Uh...hi?”

Peter growled, low and threatening, and everyone’s eyes shifted away but it honestly only made Stiles feel _more_ uncomfortable. He recognized some of the people in the room, obviously. Like Derek and all of his betas. Allison and Chris. Deaton. His guidance counselor, Ms. Morell, which was kind of weird. His dad’s new deputy, Jordan Parrish, though _he_ at least looked about as lost as Stiles was feeling. Danny was there too, standing with a group of about eight people who looked like maybe they were his family.

But there were also a bunch of others who Stiles _didn’t_ know. An older Asian woman, who was seated with the sort of posture one expected from a queen. A bunch of other people, too. Men, women, and even a few teens, all of whom seemed to be gathered _around_ the Asian woman, as though she were a sun they were orbiting. Actually, one of them was a boy around Stiles’ age who looked almost familiar, though Stiles couldn't figure out _why._ There was also what seemed to be a family of four, the parents and two teenage boys standing together, somehow separate from everyone else. 

Steeling himself, Stiles moved to the loveseat Peter was seated on and sank carefully into the seat, knowing instinctively that Peter wouldn’t like it if he went and greeted his friends. In a room full of this many people - people he assumed were all supernaturals of some sort - Peter would want his new mate safely at his side. And honestly, Stiles wasn’t keen on the idea of wandering around a group of supernaturals he didn’t know. What if someone tried to eat him? Because Stiles had found, in the almost-year since Scott had been bitten, that supernatural creatures had an overwhelming tendency towards wanting to eat him. He wasn’t really sure why.

And really, Stiles wasn’t in the mood to deal with someone trying to take a bite out of him. He had more than enough on his plate at the moment, thank you very much.

So he curled his legs up onto the cushion, squirming his way into Peter’s side, sighing happily when the alpha’s arm settled around him. It felt like safety, and certainty; it felt _right,_ and Stiles was pretty sure he knew why. Voice barely even a whisper, Stiles said. “I can feel it now.”

Several people turned at that, clearly having heard him and their interest piqued, but no one said anything except Peter. “That’s good, pet.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head, nuzzling into his hair for a moment. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you, considering how quickly this happened, but it’s tradition - when an alpha claims their mate - for any other supernaturals in the area to be invited to come and meet the new mate. If not tonight, it will be sometime soon - before the week is up - but it’s traditional for it to be done as soon as possible, so when Alan set things up...”

It took Stiles a second to realize that by _Alan,_ Peter meant _Deaton._ He wondered why the Druid was the one in charge of sending out the invitations for this gathering, but he also figured the vet was likely one of the only people in the area who knew who all the other supernaturals were. So, in a way, it made sense. And while he wasn’t exactly in the mood to meet a whole bunch of people, he _did_ understand that werewolf culture was a complicated mix of magic and tradition, and that there were going to be times - like now - where he _had_ to do certain things, even if he didn’t want to. He supposed it was the same with any marriage, really. Absorbing parts of the other person’s culture and heritage; sharing traditions; figuring out how to work as a unit.

“It’s cool.” Stiles agreed quietly, rubbing his cheek against Peter’s shoulder. He knew that many of the others present could hear him, but there was nothing to be done about it so he ignored that fact as best he could and focused on Peter. “I’m tired, but I think that’s going to be a thing for the next few days at least, so we might as well do this now and get it out of the way. I don’t have to do anything special, right? Just meet everyone?”

“Nothing special.” Peter said reassuringly. “Some of them may offer us gifts, as you’re now the mate of the eldest Hale alpha in the territory, but there’s no obligation to it so there’s bound to be some variance on that. Just say hello, and say thank you if they brought us something, and try to remember their names for future reference but don’t panic if you forget some people. They understand that you weren’t born into this the way many of us were, and no one will get angry if they bump into you six months from now and you’ve forgotten their name.”

“M’kay. I’m actually pretty good with names, so that part should be easy.” Stiles let out a huge yawn, then said. “Sorry. Tired, like I said. Can I have coffee? It might help.”

Cora - who was seated on the floor near Peter’s - and now Stiles’ - feet, stood up. “I’ll make you a cup. I’m guessing you like it sweet?”

“Please.” Stiles agreed, shooting her a grateful smile. “Cream or milk or half-and-half or whatever, too. I don’t like when it’s dark.”

“Light and sweet, got it.” Cora reached out and brushed her fingers over his cheek, then did the same to Peter before she wended her way through the crowd in the room and left the room, heading for the kitchen.

Peter gave Stiles a slight squeeze, then said. “We’ll start with Derek, as he’s family and also a Hale alpha. I know you already know him - and his pack - but it’s part of the process.”

Stiles nodded, watching as Derek led his betas over to them. He stopped in front of them, inclined his head to Peter, and said softly. “Hello, Uncle Peter.” Then he turned to Stiles and - sounding a little stilted and formal - added. “As a Hale alpha, I welcome you, Stiles, alpha-mate of Alpha Peter Hale. My pack and I offer our congratulations on your claiming.”

“Heeey, Sourwolf.” Stiles returned softly, smiling at the other man and not worrying too much about what he said since Peter had said he didn’t need to say anything special. “Thanks. Did your loft survive the party okay?”

Derek’s lips curved up slightly, something warm and soft showing in his eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He said, then added. “Welcome to the Hale family, Stiles. This was a long time coming.”

Stiles blinked, sitting up in surprise. “Was it?” He asked, voice a little sharp as he narrowed his eyes at Derek. “Did...did you _know?”_

Derek winced, shooting an uneasy look at his uncle. “Uh, I don’t really-”

“Don’t look at him.” Stiles snapped, and Derek’s eyes flicked back over to meet his own. “I’m going to ask you again, Derek. _Did you know?”_

The undercurrent of magic in the question was clear, and Derek winced again, before mumbling. “I mean, the whole _pack_ knew, once Peter met you. I just...it didn’t seem relevant when we met, because Peter was in the hospital. And then he was-”

Derek cut himself off, but Stiles heard the words anyway. _Murderously insane,_ and then _dead,_ and then _gone._ Deflating a little, Stiles let himself slump back into Peter’s side as he admitted. “Yeah, I get it. Just...for future reference, we tell Stiles things that are important, okay?”

Derek agreed and Stiles waved one hand dismissively. “Okay, your turn is done. Let me say hi to the rest of the pack.”

With a snort, Derek obligingly moved to one side. Erica threw herself forward, hugging Stiles despite the fact that it meant she had to halfway hug Peter, too. It felt a little suffocating, but thankfully she kept it brief. “I can’t believe you werewolf-married the zombie.” She told him when she finally drew back, a half-feral grin curving her full, red-slicked lips. “McCall almost _died_ when he found out. Congrats on nabbing yourself a hot alpha, Batman. Good job.”

“Thanks, Catwoman.” Stiles laughed, rolling his eyes at her. “It’s always nice to have your approval on things that are none of your business.”

Isaac and Boyd stepped forward, each softly murmuring their congratulations as though they were small children reciting memorized lines. Stiles thanked them both, then watched warily as Jackson and Lydia stepped forward. Lydia’s lips were compressed into an unhappy line, and Jackson looked annoyed. Jackson gritted out the same rote line Isaac and Boyd had used - clearly Derek had told them what they were supposed to say - but Lydia...well, Lydia went off-script.

“Really, Stiles?” She asked, hurt and anger lacing her words. “Peter Hale, of all people?”

Stiles shrugged, because he understood her feelings. Thanks to Peter, she had spent three days running around naked in the woods and it had been a severe blow to her carefully cultivated public image; to her reputation. “It’s complicated.” Was all he said, because it was as much of the truth as he was willing to give her in a room full of strangers. “And we can talk about it later, I promise. But yes, Lydia. Peter, of all people.” He glanced at Jackson, then added softly. “Love isn’t always logical, Lyds. In fact, it rarely is.”

Lydia sighed, her face softening marginally. “Okay.” She inclined her head slightly. “Congratulations, then, if this is truly what you want.”

“It is, thank you.”

They stepped away and now all that was left of Derek’s pack was Scott. Scott, who shuffled forward, looking miserable and uncomfortable. “Stiles, I-”

“Don’t.” Stiles broke in, reaching out to grab Scott’s hand. He let go a second later with a hiss, his skin crawling, but he pressed on with his words regardless. “I know this is going to take some time for you to adjust to. I get it. Just...I want this, Scott. I really do. So try to be happy for me. Can you do that?”

Scott looked like he was maybe going to throw up, but he nodded jerkily. “Yeah, of course. If you’re happy, I’m happy for you. You know that.”

“Thank you.” Stiles said gratefully.

As Derek ushered his small pack back across the room, Danny came over.

“Hey, Stiles.” He bowed slightly to him, then bowed a little deeper to Peter, greeting him deferentially. “Alpha Hale.” He looked back at Stiles, adding. “I offer my congratulations, Alpha-Mate Hale, on your claiming.”

Danny winked then, and Stiles choked a little on the laughter he was trying to suppress, knowing that was Danny’s way of also congratulating him on having finally lost his oft-lamented virginity. He grinned at the other teen. “Thanks. And also, you’re an asshole for not having told me you knew all about werewolves and shit, but I forgive you because you’re too pretty to stay mad at.”

“Fair enough.” Danny allowed, grinning back. Then, he gestured to the people who were behind him, adding. “The Mahealani family - wolves and humans alike - offer their congratulations as well, and also offer a gift.”

Peter squeezed Stiles to keep him silent, then asked. “And what gift do you offer?”

Danny took a deep breath, then said. “Ourselves, as pack. We have no alpha, and no pack beyond our own family. We offer ourselves as betas to you and your new mate.”

Stiles could feel Peter’s surprise, and wondered what the alpha would say. But Peter recovered quickly and said. “When the bonding period is over, Stiles and I will meet with you and your family to discuss this. Thank you for offering your strength and numbers.”

Danny inclined his head again, then each of his family members came forward. They gave their names and said if they were wolf or human, each one offering a soft congratulations to Peter and Stiles. Stiles dutifully thanked each one, trying to remember their names and knowing he was likely to mix them up a little because Danny’s cousins all looked remarkably similar. When the final one was done, they moved as a unit back to where they’d been before their introductions. Much to Stiles’ appreciation, Cora moved forward then, offering Stiles a travel mug. He greedily gulped some coffee down, pleased that Cora had done a good job with making it palatable for him. She curled herself down to the floor again, near Peter’s feet, and Stiles found himself hoping she, too, would join Peter’s pack. He really did like her. And it seemed that she was leaning that way, since she was settling herself with _them_ rather than with Derek and his betas.

Deaton and Ms. Morell came forward next, and Stiles learned that they were brother and sister, and that Ms. Morell was a Druid as well. Deaton offered Stiles the gift of a book; it had been written by an alpha-mate, apparently, and he thought it might assist Stiles in settling into his new role. Ms. Morell gave him a wooden chest with a domed lid, a little larger than the average shoebox, and quietly informed him that it held an assortment of herbs, including several rarer strains of aconite. A gift to assist him in aiding his new pack, should the need arise, and his thank you to her was genuine if a bit surprised. Her congratulations to Peter was polite but strained and Stiles wondered at it.

Peter leaned in to explain softly. “She was Emissary to the alpha I took the power from. He wasn’t a good alpha, and he was threatening Derek _and_ Beacon Hills, in addition to holding Cora hostage, so I was more than justified. And, honestly, she’s safer with him gone. But it does make this a touch awkward, considering.”

“Fair enough.” Stiles agreed. He tracked the Druids as they moved away, and now the unknown family of four was approaching. They stopped in front of Stiles and inclined their heads, a greeting Stiles returned on instinct alone.

“David Walcott.” The father offered, and his eyes turned an eerie, glowing white for a moment. “My wife, Christina...” He added, gesturing to the woman. “And our sons, Michael and Sean.” He pointed to the boys in turn, with Michael being the older of the two. Each of them let their eyes glow for a moment as well.

“We’re wendigos.” He offered when Stiles made a questioning sound, continuing. “We extend our congratulations to you, Alpha Hale, and to your new mate.”

Christina stepped forward, holding out an envelope to Stiles. “A gift for your claiming, Alpha-Mate Hale.” She murmured.

Stiles took the envelope, peeking inside. His eyes widened at the gift certificate for the fanciest restaurant in town, in an amount that was frankly _staggering_ to Stiles, but which would likely _just_ cover dinner for himself and Peter. “Whoa.” He breathed, looking up at her with wide eyes. “I, uh...thank you. This is very nice of you.”

Christina Walcott’s lips curved up into a small smile and she said. “Even we creatures of the night enjoy having a night out with our loved ones, now and then. I thought a date night might be something you, as a human, would appreciate.”

“It is.” Stiles assured her, smiling back. “It’s very generous, thank you.”

And now the older Asian woman was in front of them, a crowd of others at her back. Her eyes turned red as she inclined her head to Peter and Stiles in turn. When both Peter and Stiles had returned the silent greeting, she spoke. “Alpha Hale. I offer congratulations on finally claiming your mate.”

She turned to Stiles and continued. “I am Satomi Ito, alpha over the other pack in Beacon Hills. I offer you congratulations on your claiming, Alpha-Mate Hale.” She paused for a moment, then said very softly. “As a gift, I offer a further blessing, when you are ready to receive it.”

“Uh...okay?” Stiles frowned, glancing at Peter before turning back to her. “I mean, that’s nice of you. Giving us a blessing, I mean. I just...I don’t really understand what that means, sorry. I’m new to the whole supernatural world, so...”

Satomi’s lips curved up and she explained. “A child, Alpha-Mate Hale. When you are ready for one, of course, for you are still young yet.”

Stiles blinked, then said. “What.”

“A child.” Satomi repeated. “You have magic, and there is further magic that can gift you and Alpha Hale with a child, when you are ready. I have knowledge of that magic. I am offering to share that with you, so you may carry and give your alpha a child of his own one day.”

“O-oh.” Stiles sucked in a shaky breath, but nodded. “Right. I, uh...that’s very kind of you. Th-thank you, for the offer. I’ll, uh...keep that in mind. For the future.”

Something about Satomi’s smile - and the twinkle in her dark eyes - told Stiles that she could tell he was freaking out about the possibility of having a baby. But she simply inclined her head again and said. “The offer will stand until you are ready, Alpha-Mate Hale.”

As she moved away, members of her pack stepped forward, introducing themselves and offering their own congratulations. Some of them offered gifts; others didn’t. There seemed to be little rhyme or reason to it, and Stiles noted that the gifts that _were_ given varied a lot as well. A beta near Peter’s age, Demarco Montana, offered them a bottle of whiskey; Peter, at least, had seemed duly impressed by it. A blonde in her early twenties - Carrie Hudson - gave Stiles a gift certificate to the local movie theater. Another young woman - a brunette - who’s name was Cheryl something-or-other, gave them a voucher for a couple’s massage at a nearby spa. Satomi actually had a _lot_ of betas, and it took a while to get through them all.

The last two to approach were teenagers, and one was the boy Stiles thought looked familiar. It wasn’t until they introduced themselves that it clicked. “I’m Lorilee Rohr.” The blonde girl offered, then gestured to the tall, dark-haired boy. “This is my brother, Brett Talbot. We-”

“You play lacrosse.” Stiles blurted out, cutting her off without meaning to as he directed the statement at Brett. When she froze, staring at him in shock, Stiles winced and hastily explained. “Sorry, I’ve been trying to figure out where I know your brother from since I walked into the room and I just did. _Talbot._ Lacrosse. Devenford Prep, right?”

Brett nodded. “Yeah, actually. I don’t...I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to recognize me.”

“I have a good memory for names and faces.” Stiles admitted. “And since I’m usually on the bench during games, I spend a lot of time watching the opposing teams and learning their players.” He shrugged, then smiled apologetically at Lorilee and added. “Sorry for interrupting. I have ADHD and sometimes I just...can’t help myself.”

“Oh. It’s okay.” Lorilee smiled at him, a little shyly. “We - my brother and I - just wanted to offer our congratulations. And...here.”

She held out something that Stiles hadn't even realized she’d been holding, because he’d been too focused on her brother and trying to figure out why he looked familiar. But what Lorilee held out suddenly captured his full attention. Almost reverently, he reached out, taking it with care.

“I know it’s not _quite_ right since it should be from your parents...” She offered softly, blushing. “But when we heard your name, I looked up Polish traditions and I...well, I like to bake, so I thought I’d do this because it seemed...I don’t know. Like, all of this is from _Peter’s_ culture, and I thought you might like something...something human. Something from _your_ culture. I...I hope it’s okay.”

Stiles stared down at the round loaf of bread in his hands. The bottom edge was braided. The upper part of the dome-shaped loaf had leaves and flowers on it. And they were inexpertly made - a little misshapen from the dough swelling as it rose and baked - but the effort that had been put into them was obvious. In the top of the loaf was a hole, and settled into the hole was a tiny bowl nearly filled with salt. And Stiles’ eyes welled up with tears as he remembered his parents’ wedding pictures, and the loaf of bread Claudia’s parents had given them, which had looked _so much_ like this one.

Sniffling a little, and feeling deeply touched, Stiles said. “Thank you. It’s wonderful, really. And you did a good job with it. It’s beautiful, and it...it looks like the one from my parents’ wedding. This was very thoughtful of you.”

He carefully set the loaf of bread on the end table nearest him, then opened his arms in a gesture meant to offer a hug, but Lorilee shook her head vigorously. “Oh no, I couldn't! I...really, I’m glad you like it, but a _hug...”_ She looked horrified.

“Okay.” Stiles agreed, because he wasn’t going to _force her,_ obviously. “I mean, you don’t have to? I just tend to be pretty tactile and this...it means a lot to me, so...but it’s okay.”

Still blushing, Lorilee shot her brother a frantic look, and Brett offered quietly. “You shouldn’t touch another werewolf right now. If we were pack, it _might_ be tolerable for you, but since we’re not...it wouldn’t feel right. It might feel like you can’t breathe, or it might feel like a bad itch, or like you’ve touched something disgusting. It might even _hurt._ But until your bond settles with Alpha Hale, it’s not really something that’s _done._ Touching a claimed mate, I mean.”

And Stiles thought of how Erica’s hug had felt suffocating, and how grabbing Scott’s hand had made his skin crawl. “Ooooh. That...actually makes a lot of sense.” He smiled at them both. “Okay, so rain-check on the thank you hug, then.”

Lorilee giggled, but nodded. “Next time we see you, Alpha-Mate Hale.”

“Stiles.” He corrected, gently but firmly. She was young - a freshman, if he had to guess - and she seemed impossibly sweet and kind. “You can call me Stiles.”

Brett and Lorilee both thanked him for that honor, then moved back to Satomi’s side. She spoke to them softly and, though Stiles couldn't hear what she was saying, she seemed to be offering them praise. It reaffirmed what Stiles had already assumed; that the betas gifts - if they had chosen to give one - were not something their alpha had been involved in choosing. But Satomi was clearly pleased that these two young betas had chosen so well, and that their gift had been so well received. He imagined it reflected well on the pack, and therefore on her.

The only supernatural left to approach now was Jordan Parrish - and Stiles was a little pleased with himself because he’d _thought_ there was something magic-ish about the man - and he did so hesitantly. “So...” He said, seeming very ill at ease. “I, uh...I got an invitation to this. But I don’t...Stiles, what’s going on?”

Stiles winced, realizing this wasn’t going to be as simple as he’d hoped, then said. “Um, so...I’m guessing you’re like Lydia in that you’ve got supernatural powers you know nothing about. So like, I’m thinking you need to talk to Deaton. Ah...that’s Alan Deaton, the veterinarian. If he sent you an invite, he probably knows what you are and can help you sort out your powers and all.”

Jordan looked a little unnerved, but he nodded. “Right. Okay.” He took a deep breath, glanced over at Deaton, then asked Stiles. “So, your dad...does he know...?”

“About the supernatural? Yes.” Stiles grinned. “About the fact that I’m Peter’s mate? Also yes. So you don’t have to worry that your boss’s underage kid had a secret congratulatory party for his werewolf marriage. Dad’s been filled in. It’s fine.”

“Right.” Jordan seemed shaken, but not as much as Stiles would have expected from someone who had no knowledge of the supernatural, so he was betting the deputy had had some unexplained things happen to or around him. “I’m just...going to go.” He shifted his gaze to Peter for a moment, then looked back at Stiles and added. “Congratulations, I guess. I can’t imagine _wanting_ to be a part of this madness, but the whole station says you were always a weird kid, so...”

Stiles laughed at that, loud and bright. “That is definitely true. And don’t worry, Parrish. You get used to _weird_ pretty quick in Beacon Hills. It comes with the town.”

“I can see that.” He gestured, encompassing the fact that a good number of Beacon Hills’ - and the larger Beacon County’s - residents were present in the room, including all of the remaining members of the town’s founding family. “Good luck, Stiles. I feel like you’re going to need it.”

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it.” Stiles said, smug and self-satisfied. “I’ve got _skill.”_

Now _Jordan_ laughed, rolling his eyes. “If you say so.”

He gave a head nod to Peter, then waved to Stiles before crossing the room, heading for Deaton and his sister. Stiles hoped they could help the deputy sort out what he was and how his powers worked, because he genuinely liked his dad’s newest employee. Jordan Parrish seemed like he was a good man.

And now it was Chris and Allison’s turn. Allison was smiling her Disney princess smile as she leaned in to kiss Stiles’ cheek, though Chris tensed up at his daughter being so close to Peter Hale. Stiles found it interesting that Allison’s touch _also_ made him feel prickly and strange, which just reaffirmed what he’d already believed; Allison was a member of Derek’s pack. She drew back, still smiling, and Stiles could tell it was genuine.

“Congratulations, Stiles.” She told him, sincerity dripping from her words. “I can see how happy you are, and I know you wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t what you wanted. No one’s ever been able to make you do anything, at least not in the time I’ve known you. And Scott’s told me enough about when you guys were kids to make me believe no one has _ever_ been able to force you to do something you weren’t okay with. So I’m happy, because _you’re_ happy.”

She then shot Peter a slightly cooler smile and added. “Alpha Peter Hale...” She offered the form of address with very little respect, and Stiles bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “If you hurt him, in _any_ way, I will make it my life’s mission to end yours.”

“Miss Argent.” Peter inclined his head, and there was something almost _fond_ in his words. “If I hurt Stiles, I would expect nothing less from you, or the others you call pack. But I promise you, it won’t come to that.”

“See that it doesn’t.” Allison said, sweet and dangerous all at once.

She stepped back slightly, allowing her father room to greet them as well. Chris stared at Peter for a long moment, then said stiffly. “Congratulations on your new mate, Alpha Hale.” His words were grudging, his tone sharp and unfriendly. He looked at Stiles and added. “If you ever change your mind, let me know. I’d be happy to come out of retirement to make you a widower.”

Stiles bit his lip for a minute to stifle a grin, because that reaction would be _wildly_ inappropriate in the eyes of the strangers watching them and Stiles had no desire to undermine Peter’s authority in local circles. But Stiles was amused, because Chris was sweet and kind and nothing like most of the Argents, and he would leave them in peace so long as Stiles was happy, and Stiles really did appreciate that he had so many people who cared about him and his well-being.

Still, he kept his face somber as he replied. “Thank you, Mr. Argent, for that _gracious_ offer, but I’m content with Peter.”

Chris shrugged, and Stiles took that as the only acceptance they were likely to get from the former hunter.

As they moved away, Stiles leaned into Peter’s side, snuggling closer to the man, wondering what would happen now that everyone had greeted and congratulated them. He really hoped this wouldn’t turn into some sort of all-night social event. For one thing, he had school in the morning. For another, he was already exhausted. Not to mention, he was eager to be alone with Peter again. His desire for the older man was like an itch he couldn't quite seem to scratch.

Stiles sort of hoped _that_ never changed.

But Satomi approached and murmured a polite goodbye, her pack grouped behind her and all of them clearly ready to head out. Cora stood, stretching out her slim body before leading the group out of the den, likely showing them the way to the front door. The Walcotts - the family of wendigos, and Stiles was trying _really_ hard not to think about the fact that there were flesh-eating supernaturals living in Beacon Hills - said their farewells next, following Satomi’s pack out. Deaton, Ms. Morell, and Jordan all left together. Chris Argent and the Mahealanis left right behind them though Danny himself lingered, talking to Jackson, and Allison was now standing near Scott and Lydia.

“Derek...” Peter said, when the only people left were members of one Hale pack or the other and Cora had slipped back into the room. “You and your pack are welcome to stay and spend time with Cora, as extended pack bonding is important and my home is always open to you and yours. But Stiles is tired and I’m going to take him up to bed.”

Derek inclined his head, and then Stiles was back in Peter’s arms as the alpha carried him towards the door. Snorting in amusement, Stiles waved over Peter’s shoulder, calling out cheerfully. “Thanks for coming, guys. I’ll see you all at school tomorrow. Bye!”

There was a chorus of goodbyes and then Peter was mounting the stairs with him. As Stiles relaxed in Peter’s arms, he marveled a bit at how _awesome_ his life had become.

~*~*~*~

Stiles pulled the jeep into its usual spot in the school parking lot, then turned to Cora. “You ready for this?”

“My first day was _yesterday,_ dumbass.” Cora rolled her eyes, grabbing her purse and her school bag from the footwell. “Everybody’s already done the thing where they stare at me for being the new kid and no one even asked me how I wasn’t dead.”

“That’s just Sunnydale Syndrome at its finest.” Stiles laughed, grabbing his own bag from the backseat before opening his door. “No one ever questions _anything_ in Beacon Hills. I think it’s because everyone sort of knows - on some level - that they don’t actually _want_ to know the answers, so it’s better to just ignore the whole mess.”

“So why’d you ask if I was ready?” Cora asked when he’d circled the jeep and they were headed towards the door.

“Because I’m not even going to _try_ to hide this thing with Peter.” Stiles admitted. Cora missed a step, stumbling slightly, and he explained. “There’s no point because we’re bound to be seen together eventually, and my dad knows, so I’m just gonna go with it. But it’s going to get some sort of reaction, and you’re going to be around me and my friends plus Peter is your uncle, so you’ll get a bit of the reaction-wave by association.”

He’d already talked to Peter about this choice, and his dad, and everyone was on the same page, at least. But it was a small town and, with the age difference, there was bound to be talk. Stiles had no doubt that Peter would charm everyone into believing it was the whirlwind romance of the century before long, but the backlash before that happened would likely be legendary. He was okay with it, though. Stiles had braved worse than this, that was for sure.

Cora sighed, but she was smiling slightly. “You’re a wonder, Stiles. I never went in for the hype about mates, to be honest, because it all seemed sort of fairytale-stupid to me, but I think I see it now. How you’re perfect for Uncle Peter. How you compliment him, and fit together, and how you can give him things no one else could. Things no one would expect you to, even, and you just offer them up like it’s nothing. Like it’s _normal._ It’s kind of amazing.”

“Thanks.” Stiles said, and he meant it. He was new to this - had never had any kind of relationship before Peter - and it was nice to know he was doing a good job. “I’m trying. I’m getting so much from this and I want to make sure it’s an equal exchange.”

Cora raised an eyebrow at him, following him to his locker and seeming unconcerned about the curious glances they were getting. “Like what?”

“Like the fact that your uncle is hotter than the fucking sun.” Stiles admitted, spinning the combination lock with practiced ease. “He’s definitely out of my league, because _all_ of you Hales are a league of your goddamn own, populated by supernatural creatures and the Jackson Whittemores of the world.”

“Isn’t Jackson a werewolf?”

Stiles huffed in amusement before kicking the bottom of his locker to pop it open. “I mean, yeah, but he was that devastatingly pretty _before_ Derek bit him.” Stiles shuffled his books around so that only the ones he needed before lunch were in his bag, adding. “And like, not only is Peter gorgeous, he’s an alpha. He’ll protect me with his life and, in Beacon Hills especially, that’s a really big bonus. Not to mention he’s _loaded.”_

A little self consciously, Stiles closed the locker before admitting to Cora. “He paid off dad’s house, _and_ he told me he’s going to have the jeep put in the shop over Christmas break so it doesn’t break down on me anymore. He’s just...he’s determined to take care of me. And that’s this huge thing that I haven’t really had in a while. Since my mom died, I’ve been the one taking care of my dad and the house and I just...I dunno, it’s nice. To be coddled. Spoiled, even.”

“I think that’s fair.” Cora offered softly, settling her hand on his arm in a soothing way. “In Argentina, I was a refugee. I had a pack, but they weren’t _mine._ Not really. I had to work twice as hard as anyone else, just to feel like I’d earned the bare minimum to get by. With Uncle Peter, I can relax. I know he and Derek love me, and that they’ll provide for me because of that. I don’t _need_ to work for it.” She shot him a look, adding. “Neither do you.”

“Maybe not. But I want to be worthy of it, anyway.” Stiles said. “It’s not like it’s a hardship. I’m not giving Peter anything I don’t want to. I think it’s just that I understand him better than most people would, because of all my research. So it’s easier for me to meet his instincts.”

Stiles sighed, then changed the subject. “So, what do you have first?”

“Physics.” Cora offered, adding. “Uncle Peter fed the school some bullshit about homeschooling in foreign countries and lack of socialization, then insisted I needed to be in classes with a student who would understand my _‘emotional needs’_ so I wouldn’t be overwhelmed.” Cora actually made air quotes, much to Stiles’ amusement. “Which means my schedule perfectly matches yours. I’m honestly not sure if he did it for my benefit, or so you’ll always have someone to protect you if something happens.”

“Does it bother you, sharing all my classes?” Stiles asked quietly as they headed towards the second floor, and the science labs. “Or that you might be placed in a position where you have to keep me safe? Because I’m not helpless, you know. I’ve got magic. So I’ll have your back just as much as you have mine.”

Cora jerked one shoulder awkwardly. “I don’t _mind._ I’m just not used to this yet. Peter was probably right to arrange things how he did. It might help me adjust.”

Stiles nodded and gestured for her to enter the classroom first. He kind of hated that he had Harris first thing in the morning, but there was nothing he could do about it. If he’d known Peter would be pulling strings down in guidance with regards to scheduling, he’d have made the man get them _both_ into Harris’ afternoon physics class instead. But he _hadn't_ known and it was too late now to worry about it, so he simply followed Cora inside.

Harris never bothered to assign seats, so Stiles settled himself on a stool beside Cora for the day, just because. Lydia and Allison were at the station in front of them, with Danny and Jackson across the aisle from the girls. Scott - all caught up thanks to summer school - slunk in with Isaac just before the bell, and they took the station across from Cora and Stiles. Erica and Boyd weren’t in this class with them. Erica because she was taking Anatomy and Physiology, and Boyd because he was in the afternoon class.

Harris was standing at the front of the room when the bell rang, looking snide and superior and altogether infuriating, but Stiles ignored him as he pulled out the report he had to hand in. Harris’ eyes lit on him almost immediately and he sneered. “I’ll be taking points off for that being late, Mr. Stilinski.”

The entirety of Derek’s pack bristled up, but Stiles just raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I was absent yesterday so you _can’t._ And if you try, I’ll go right to guidance about it. And thankfully I have a whole classroom full of witnesses to back me up, regarding your threat to alter my grade against school policy.”

Harris’ pointed face went red, and he snapped. “And just why were you absent, Mr. Stilinski? You seemed healthy enough on Monday and you look fine today. What sort of magical illness did you have that made you miss only a single day?”

Cora went still beside him, no doubt remembering his words from their walk through the school only minutes earlier. Stiles smiled placidly and said. “I wasn’t sick, Mr. Harris. I was on my honeymoon. It was brief, obviously, but rather memorable, and I imagine I’ll think back on it fondly for many years to come. If not for school, I imagine it would have lasted much longer, but that’s alright.”

Harris was sputtering now, fury flashing in his eyes. “You think this is _funny,_ Mr. Stilinski?”

“No.” Stiles replied. “But then, I’m not laughing. I got married on Monday evening, and yesterday was - effectively - my honeymoon. The school seemed to think it was a more than acceptable reason to miss school, since it was marked an _excused absence_ in my file.”

Harris was huffing, and glaring, and one of the other students turned around. Stiles startled slightly, realizing it was Michael Walcott; one of the wendigos he’d met the night before. He hadn't realized the boy was in his grade, but then, Stiles hadn't always paid a lot of attention to who was in his classes, unless it was Scott or Lydia. Or Jackson, but that had mostly been for self-preservation’s sake. Still, Michael smirked at him, then asked loudly.

“So, Stiles...who’d you marry?”

And yeah, okay; it was kind of _awesome_ to be able to answer. “Peter Hale.”

The whole class practically _exploded_ at the name. People were asking questions, and half-shouting, and several were demanding Cora either confirm or deny the statement. Cora simply nodded, saying nothing, and that only resulted in further pandemonium.

It was several minutes of chaos before Harris screamed. _“Enough!”_

Everyone froze, several students hastily scrambling back into their seats, then a panting, fuming Harris turned on Stiles, stalking closer in a way that was probably meant to be intimidating but which Stiles just found kind of pathetic. “Detention.” He hissed, looking manic and gleeful. “For a _month.”_

“For what?” Stiles asked, calm despite the near-riot he’d just incited. “As far as I know, getting married doesn’t violate any school rules.”

“For lying!” Harris snapped, and Stiles made a face and shifted back away from the man as spittle flew from his mouth. “And for defaming a member of Beacon Hills’ founding family with your inappropriate and wildly outrageous claims. Your disrespect will not go unpunished.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure _my husband_ won’t appreciate you insulting our marriage, or calling me a liar. Peter’s kind of madly in love with me, after all.”

Harris opened his mouth to retort, but Cora cleared her throat, drawing his attention. She turned her cell phone towards him, showing a picture Stiles hadn't known she’d taken. It was of him, perched on Peter’s lap the night of his claiming. He had been holding a curly fry, about to pop it into his mouth, and Peter was watching him fondly. His dad was visible to one side of the photo, mid-bite of his burger, still dressed in his uniform. Harris took in the photo, looking like he’d just swallowed something deeply unpleasant.

“It was a small, intimate ceremony.” Cora said smoothly, withdrawing the phone. “And the celebratory wedding dinner was only for family. But I couldn't resist immortalizing at least a photo or two from the event, for sentimentality’s sake.” She folded her hands primly on the desk in front of her, tipped her head to the side, and added. “Uncle Peter will, of course, be throwing a _huge_ party for the whole town to formally celebrate their union at some point, but things like that take time to plan and he wanted to marry Stiles immediately, so.”

She shrugged, as though this was of little concern, then added. “Since you’re so opposed to the union, I’ll be sure to let Uncle Peter know not to send you an invitation.” Smiling, Cora delivered her next line so coldly that Stiles half expected snow to escape her mouth along with the words. “I imagine you’ll be one of the only people in town who doesn’t attend, but what’s a little ostracization when weighed against your feelings, right, Mr. Harris?” 

Harris had paled now, and he turned to hurry back to the front of the room. The Hales had been gone from Beacon Hills for some time, but they had always been a force to be reckoned with and _no one_ had ever wanted to get on their bad side. That clearly hadn't changed.

Voice shaking a bit, Harris said. “Get out your books. Read chapter seven.”

Unable to resist, Stiles asked softly. “So, about those detentions...”

Harris met his eyes, hatred seething in his expression. “Read the chapter, Mr. Stilinski.”

Smirking - knowing he’d won, at least this round - Stiles flipped open his book to the necessary page and started reading.

~*~*~*~

By the time lunch rolled around, the whole school was buzzing with talk of Stiles’ marriage to _Peter Hale,_ the mysterious head of the Hale family. There were whispers about the fire. About Laura’s death the year before. About Cora’s recent return, and Derek’s own comings-and-goings, and how the younger Hale was Isaac’s legal guardian. There was talk of Stiles’ own past, as well; of his mom’s death when he was a child, and some of the things he’d gotten entangled in recently because of the supernatural. Overall, it was nothing Stiles hadn't expected and he fielded the questions as best he could, simply ignoring the ones he had no desire to answer.

Cora seemed more inclined to growl when someone crossed a line with her, and Stiles had taken to squeezing her hand in silent reprimand when it happened. Thankfully, she was as controlled as Derek and her uncle and there was no hint of claws, or fangs, or flashing eyes, no matter how much her temper flared. Small mercies, in Stiles’ opinion.

Still, by lunch, he was tired and feeling strained. Cora curled in close to his side at the table, ordering him softly to eat every few minutes when he inevitably stopped again after having only taken a bite or two. By the time lunch was over, he had barely eaten half of his food and, honestly, he had no appetite for more. He just wanted to curl up and take a nap. But he had Econ next and he knew that, if there was any class he would have no chance of sleeping in, it would be Finstock’s. The coach was just too damn loud and unpredictable to allow for it.

So he trudged along beside Cora, who had her arm around his waist and was carding the fingers of her other hand through his hair, his head resting on her shoulder as he ordered his feet to keep shuffling him along.

“Why’s he like that?” Erica asked, and the worry in her voice would have alarmed Stiles normally but he simply didn’t have the _energy_ for it. “Is this normal?”

“Not exactly.” Cora replied, and there was concern in her voice as well. “But normally a claimed human wouldn’t be separated from their werewolf mate during the bonding week. Peter should never have done this when Stiles had school. If he’d just waited for winter break, there wouldn’t have been an issue. Now...I don’t know. I just know it’s not good for them to apart right now. Not for more than a few hours, anyway.”

“It’ll get better, right?” Scott asked, and Stiles halfway wanted to reassure his friend but he honestly didn’t even have his eyes open at this point and talking felt like a waste of energy. “I mean, this won’t last forever.”

“Of course not.” Cora sighed, and Stiles felt it as she lowered him into a seat. He slumped forward onto the desk, folding his arms there and burying his face in them. He felt Cora start petting his hair again even as she murmured. “But I don’t know how long this will last. The strain might make the bond take longer to settle, which in turn will make him tired for longer, and...well, who knows how long the cycle will perpetuate itself for.”

That sounded problematic to Stiles, and he definitely wanted to address the issue. But like...after a nap. A _long_ nap.

Darkness pulled at his mind and he welcomed it, far too tired to fight it any longer.

~*~*~*~

Peter knew he wasn’t being reasonable, and he honestly didn’t give a shit. Reasonable behavior was for lesser folks; for _common people._ Peter was above bullshit like social expectations and he’d known it for most of his life. When you were wealthy, and attractive, and powerful, no one dared tell you to act reasonably. They just did their best to meet your demands if they could, and to get out of your way if they couldn't. Peter was fine with that. Groveling sycophants had never bothered him because they got shit done and results were all Peter cared about most days. The _how_ was inconsequential; the _who_ less-so.

Now, Peter stood in the high school’s front office, tapping his foot and glaring with every bit of heat and fury he could manage while still holding his human shape. “I have _every right_ to see him, dammit.” He snarled at the woman refusing him from the other side of the counter. “You were informed of his marriage, and I was listed - along with his father - as his next of kin on all of his records, as well as being listed as his emergency contact. Just tell me what class he’s currently in and I’ll see myself there. It’s not as though I don’t know the layout of the school. I _did_ attend it, after all.”

“Mr. Hale.” The woman frowned, drawing herself up to her full height, which was a diminutive five foot three. “I cannot allow people to simply disrupt classes willy-nilly. If you wish to sign him out for the rest of the day, you’ll need to provide a reason and fill out the appropriate sign-out sheet, at which point we will call him down to the office. Otherwise, you need to leave.”

Peter’s phone went off in his pocket and he swiped across the screen, curious despite his mounting fury with the secretary in front of him. It was a text from Cora, and it made Peter’s heart trip over itself. This... _this_ was why he’d been drawn here; why he was seeing red at being denied immediate access to his mate.

**Cora: _stiles got tired last period he passed out a couple min ago i cant wake him up & the teacher is ranting not getting the nurse tell me ur close_**

Peter typed out a reply instantly. _**‘What classroom?’**_

The second Cora replied, Peter turned on his heel and left the office, ignoring the secretary’s demands to know what was wrong. It didn’t take Peter long to cross the school - though he would vehemently deny that he ran to anyone who asked - and he was yanking open the door in less than two minutes. Cora was hovering protectively over Stiles, who was slumped onto a desk. A teacher with wild hair - the lacrosse coach, Peter remembered; Finstock - was spouting something loudly at the front of the room, about newlyweds and tiring themselves out and how everyone ought to be so lucky. And Peter might have been amused, had his mate not been _unconscious._

“Can I help you?” Coach Finstock demanded, noticing Peter.

“Probably not.” Peter retorted, already at Stiles’ side. He scooped the teenager into his arms, sighing in relief when Stiles sighed in his sleep and nuzzled into Peter’s throat. “I’m taking my husband home. He’s clearly in no shape to continue the school day.”

“Somehow I doubt you carrying him off is going to result in him resting.” Finstock said jovially, a wide grin splitting his face. “But by all means. Stilinski’s little nap was disrupting my class anyway, so I say take him.”

He made a shooing gesture, and that was all the permission Peter needed. He turned to Cora. “Bring his things - and the jeep - to the house at the end of the day. I’ll call Noah once I’ve got him home and settled.”

“Take care of him, Uncle Peter.” Cora murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to Stiles’ temple, then pressing one to Peter’s cheek. “I’ve grown fond.”

“Me too, Corie.” Peter assured her. Then, he turned and carried Stiles out of the room, ignoring the flurry of teenage whispers that picked up in his wake.

As he neared the front doors, a security guard and the secretary spotted him, and they tried to stop him. Peter simply glared and snapped. “My husband fainted. My niece texted me. I’m taking him home. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you keep it to yourselves or you’ll be hearing from my lawyers. Any papers you need signed can wait until Stiles is recovered.”

Even as he spoke, Peter never broke stride. He’d barely finished his words - giving no time at all for a response - before he was pushing his way out the front doors and striding toward his Ferrari which was illegally parked right out front. Peter had Stiles in the passenger seat in short order. The tension didn’t leave his shoulders until he’d started driving, heading towards the house. It was possible that he had underestimated the necessity of the bonding period, Peter mused even as he sped through the Preserve. It wasn’t a mistake he would make twice.

~*~*~*~

Stiles opened his eyes and was greeted with the sight of Peter’s bedroom. _His_ bedroom now, at least some of the time. He frowned, because the last thing he remembered was being at school, heading to Econ class. He remembered being tired...and Cora explaining to the others that he had been away from Peter for too long...and then, nothing. He wondered if Cora had brought him home, or if the school had called Peter to come and get him. Wondered, too, how long he’d been sleeping for. The sky was dark outside the window, but it was autumn and the sun set early these days, so it was hard to judge the time based on only that. It could be evening, or it could be the middle of the night, or it could be the early hours of the morning. It was almost impossible to guess.

Stiles _did_ notice that he was alone in Peter’s huge bed. Frowning at that, he pushed himself to sitting and looked around. He was wearing boxers, and a t-shirt, and nothing else. There were no lights on in the room, or the attached bathroom. Stiles couldn't hear anything, either. No voices, or footsteps, or what have you. He might as well have been alone in the world.

But Stiles could _feel_ Peter. It was like a faint tugging behind his breastbone, and it was easy enough to get to his feet and follow the feeling. If it tried to lead him out of the house, Stiles figured he’d worry about things like clothes and his keys and his phone. But he doubted it would come to that. He was almost positive that Peter was nearby. He had no idea how to explain just how a tugging sensation could tell him so much, but it _did._ And Stiles had long since stopped questioning the physics - or the _meta_ physics, as it were - of magic. 

He went nimbly down the stairs, shivering a little in the cool house. Werewolves, he had learned, tended to run hot. As a result, their homes were usually _cold._ Being around the pack, Stiles had swiftly found himself grateful for his own habit of wearing layers. At the moment though he was wearing very little, and the chill in the air seemed to bite into him. He walked silently through the dark, still house and wondered if any ghosts called this place home, built as it was on the funeral pyre of the Hales. It was a morbid thought, and Stiles would have wondered where it came from except his mind was often a dark and unpleasant place. He’d accepted that about himself a long time ago, and worrying about it now would do no good.

Instead, Stiles pushed the macabre musing aside as best he could and continued his trek through the house. When he turned a corner, following a shadowed hallway, there was a light shining at the far end. He could hear voices now, too, and the sounds of someone cooking. Peter, according to the tugging in his chest. Probably Cora as well. Maybe Derek, or other members of Derek’s pack, though Stiles was less sure of that. What he _didn’t_ expect as he drew closer was to hear his dad’s voice drifting from the open doorway ahead.

Stiles hesitated for a moment, debating the merits of eavesdropping before realizing that Peter was undoubtedly able to hear his heartbeat from this distance. There would be no point in trying, because the alpha certainly knew his mate was there. He might have told Stiles’ dad, too. So, squaring his shoulders, Stiles forced himself to keep walking.

As he stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, Peter asked softly. “Feeling better, pet?”

“I guess.” Stiles said, shrugging and shivering again as he stepped onto the cold tile of the kitchen’s floor. “I don’t remember feeling _bad,_ honestly. I was just really tired.”

“Tired enough that you couldn't be woken up.” The sheriff said, frowning worriedly at Stiles from where he was seated at the breakfast bar. “You slept for six hours, kiddo. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, except you got about twelve hours of sleep last night, according to Peter. And according to Cora, you didn’t do anything strenuous at school.”

Stiles shrugged a little. “Yeah, well.” He settled himself at the breakfast bar across from his dad, admitting softly. “Cora said I shouldn’t have been away from Peter so soon. She said it was stupid that he’d claimed me when I had school, because being away from him is adding strain to our bond and it could make it take longer to settle, which can cause other issues. Like me being tired.”

Noah nodded. “Peter and I have been talking about that, actually.”

Stiles was a little surprised, because he’d kind of expected his dad to freak out about how badly today had gone. He’d halfway expected his dad to blame Peter, and to be furious about how Stiles was suffering. Though, given how long he’d been asleep - and given that he had no idea how long his dad had been at the house - it was possible that that had been the case, at first. Noah had certainly had time to cool down while Stiles was recovering from his separation from Peter, and Peter had also had plenty of time to deescalate the situation.

Stiles just nodded, not sure what to say. He didn’t want to suggest missing more school - if someone else brought it up, he’d offer his opinion, but no way was he going to be the one to mention that as an option - and he didn’t know what else to say. Separating from Peter was clearly more problematic than they’d originally assumed it would be. And Stiles didn’t want to gamble with this by assuming the bond would settle in a week even _with_ the separation, because if it _didn’t,_ then he’d be the one who was suffering for it. And he wasn’t keen on the idea of being semi-permanently exhausted for an indeterminate amount of time.

A small part of him resented that Peter hadn't thought things through enough to wait for Stiles to be on winter break before claiming him. Mostly, he understood that Peter had waited longer than anyone who fully understood the situation could reasonably have expected him to. He was just frustrated by the whole thing. It was a mess, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault - not really - but Stiles was the one who was getting screwed because of it. _He_ was the one who was suffering from bouts of exhaustion, after all, not Peter.

“I’m afraid I underestimated the importance of keeping you close during this bonding period.” Peter said softly, and Stiles wondered how dearly it had cost him to admit to the failure. “I was taught that a few hours apart was tolerable, and I mistakenly believed that you’d be fine for the duration of the school day. Clearly, that’s not the case. And we’ll have to adjust accordingly so that this doesn’t drag on indefinitely.”

Noah was nodding, tension clear in the lines around his mouth and eyes. “When I got here, you were as pale and still as death. I don’t want to think about what might have happened if you and Peter had been apart for any longer. I can’t lose you, son. So we’re going to figure out how to make this work so that your bond settles and you’re not in any danger.”

“I maintain that Stiles was _never_ in danger, Noah.” Peter’s easy use of his father’s given name had Stiles startling a little, wondering at the fact that his dad was allowing the familiarity. He’d clearly missed _a lot_ while he was unconscious. “Our bond would never _hurt_ Stiles. As I understand it, he passed out because the bond was trying to _lessen_ the strain on Stiles that was being caused by our separation. At the same time, it was urging me to find him, which is why I was already at the school by the time he lost consciousness.”

Noah shrugged. “And I’m not willing to gamble with Stiles’ life based on some cryptic answers given to us by a mystical veterinarian. I’m not assuming _anything_ about this bond anymore. What we _know_ is that it wants you two in close proximity for the next few days, so that’s damn well what it’s going to get. Pushing it isn’t worth the risk to Stiles’ health.”

“On that, we agree.” Peter stepped up behind Stiles and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, murmuring softly. “I’m sorry for any discomfort you were in at school, love. I would never have let you go today if I’d realized what would happen.”

Stiles hummed, leaning back into Peter’s heat and strength. Their bond seemed to flare at the contact, and Stiles liked the way it felt; bright and brilliant and stronger than it had been the last time he’d taken note of it. “S’okay.” He offered, because he didn’t _really_ blame Peter. They were all flying at least half-blind with this whole thing so there were bound to be a few missteps. “But what’s the plan, then?”

Peter kissed his head again, giving his waist a squeeze before moving away to continue with his cooking. Stiles wasn’t sure what the alpha was making, but it smelled garlic-y so he was betting on some sort of pasta.

It was actually his dad who answered him. “You’ve got mono.”

“I have what now?” Stiles asked, startling a little because he’d turned to watch Peter stirring something on the stove, mostly admiring the man’s muscular back and shoulders as they moved enticingly under his tight shirt. He shot his dad a baffled look, just distracted enough that he wasn’t following along in the slightest. “Uh, since when?”

“Since Melissa gave us all the paperwork saying that’s why you passed out at school.” Noah rolled his eyes, but he seemed amused by Stiles’ inattention rather than angry or annoyed. “Cora will bring your schoolwork home each day and bring the completed assignments back to school with her, and I expect you to keep up. You fall behind, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Okay.” Stiles agreed, before asking hesitantly. “So, mono kind of lasts a while. How long are we expecting me to be out of school?”

His dad blew out a breath, then admitted. “There’s some uncertainty, with regards to how much damage might have been done to the bond by you and Peter being separated so early on. And according to Deaton - who I’ll admit I don’t trust as he’s not real forthcoming with answers - there’s not really any way to know. We just have to wait for it to settle, and how long that takes will depend on how much damage - if any - there is. So we decided it was better to have an excuse that would span a longer stretch of time, just in case.”

Peter glanced over his shoulder, adding. “If it settles quickly, we’ll send you back to school and simply say you have a strong immune system and recovered from the mono quickly. But in the event it takes some time, no one will question your prolonged absence.”

“Right, right.” Stiles nodded, considering the idea.

It was clever, and Stiles was grateful they’d found a solution that wouldn’t raise anyone’s suspicions, but he was a little wary of the idea that their bond might take an indefinite amount of time to settle, all because he’d gone to school for _one day._ And not even a whole day, at that. It was unnerving to think that their bond was so fragile that it could be damaged by such a little thing. It didn’t _feel_ fragile, though. It didn’t feel damaged at all, either. When Stiles prodded at it, it felt strong and healthy. But then, he didn’t exactly have anything to compare it to, so who the hell could say for sure.

Peter seemed to sense his concern, because he crossed the room to enfold Stiles in a warm, comforting hug. The alpha murmured against his hair. “I don’t think we damaged it, pet. I expect you’ll be back at school some time next week, with our bond fully settled. But Deaton urged caution in regards to the issue, and I saw no harm in crafting an excuse _just in case._ If only to help ease your father’s mind, in regards to your attendance record.”

Stiles nodded against Peter’s shoulder, winding his arms around the alpha’s waist and hugging him tightly. “Okay.” He mumbled into the fabric of Peter’s t-shirt. “I think it’s fine, too. It doesn’t _feel_ like we hurt it at all.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Peter agreed, and that reassured Stiles even more than the hug. Stiles leaned back in the alpha’s arms just enough to be able to catch Peter’s mouth in a brief but firm kiss, then let the older man move away from him, back towards the stove. Sighing, Stiles slid off the stool and nodded towards the door. “Come on, Dad. I’ll let you pick what we watch.”

As his dad followed him to the den, Stiles wondered what the next week with Peter would be like, now that he didn’t have school to worry about. True, he’d still have to spend some time working on his assignments, but it wasn’t the same as having to actually leave Peter to go to school. Feeling a mixture of happiness and anticipation welling in his chest, Stiles settled onto the couch beside his dad, watching as Noah scrolled through Netflix, looking for something to put on. Stiles honestly didn’t care what he chose. He was just happy his dad had come around to the idea of him and Peter as quickly as he had.

~*~*~*~

Peter had never imagined his human mate would be able to match his libido. It helped, of course, that Stiles was a teenager, but still. From the moment he’d learned his mate was a human, Peter had accepted that there would undoubtedly be times when he was eager for more and his mate was simply too worn out to oblige. Peter had accepted this, and he’d been prepared to handle it with as much decorum and understanding as he could manage, when it inevitably happened.

Except it _didn’t_ happen.

Every time Peter reached for Stiles, the teen was willing and eager and ready to go. Hell, half the time, Stiles initiated before Peter could. He seemed tireless, now that he wasn’t be separated from Peter anymore. Peter had made it his mission to see how many times he could make Stiles orgasm before the teen begged the alpha to let him rest. So far, he hadn't managed it. Every time Stiles collapsed in satisfied exhaustion, Peter was right there with him. It was as though they were perfectly matched, hitting their limits at exactly the same time.

Peter couldn't have asked for more, or better. Stiles was _perfect._

They ate all of their meals together. Sometimes in bed, and sometimes in the kitchen with Cora, and sometimes - when they had company other than Cora, who lived in the house - in the dining room. On one occasion, they had ordered in and then eaten in the den while watching a movie. Peter worked on his investments - which he personally oversaw and always had, save when he’d been in a coma - while Stiles worked on his school assignments, and sometimes Cora joined them. But most of the time it was just the two of them, seated across from each other at a table in the library, focused on their respective tasks and content to simply be occupying the same space. Peter grew used to Stiles’ random chattering, and the info-dumps the younger man spouted out, and the fact that Stiles sang in the shower. Loudly, and perpetually off-key, but somehow endearing.

Noah came over every day, for at least a little while, just checking in with his son. And Peter found himself liking the sheriff more and more as he got to know the other man. He was fairly confident the feeling was mutual, if slightly grudging on Noah’s side of things. Peter figured that was more than fair, considering the circumstances. Derek and his pack were frequent visitors as well, and Peter relished having such a large pack again, even if most of it was of the _extended_ variety, rather than being his direct betas.

At night, he and Stiles fell asleep in the same bed, wrapped around each other. Peter had swiftly grown used to the weight of his mate in his arms as he slid into dreaming, and he had no doubt that in the future, on the nights when Stiles slept at his father’s house, Peter would be there as well. He couldn't imagine falling asleep _without_ Stiles, ever again. The sound of Stiles’ soft, even breathing and his steady heartbeat was a lullaby made just for him. It soothed parts of himself that Peter hadn't even realized were in need of comfort.

And during the course of the day, and the night, Peter and Stiles had sex. Repeatedly. In truth, Peter had lost count of how many times they’d come together, all of the encounters starting to blur together after a while. He knew they had christened nearly every room in the house, as well as several spots in the Preserve. He knew they had tried every position either of them could think of, and several Peter was fairly certain Stiles had found online. He knew he had mapped every inch of Stiles’ body, with his eyes and hands and mouth...and he knew Stiles had done the same to him. He knew their scents were now entwined in a way he hoped they always would be; in a way that proclaimed their status as mates louder than words ever could.

And yet...

Their bond wasn’t settled.

It had been over a week. It was creeping towards two, in fact. And though they didn’t talk about it, Peter knew Stiles was worried. If he was being honest, Peter was, too. It was distressing, to realize he had unintentionally allowed their bond to be damaged. Peter _hated_ that this was, in large part, his own fault, for not understanding how important proximity was in the immediate wake of the claiming. He cursed himself a fool for having let Stiles leave him that day, despite all of his instincts crying out against it.

He should have known better.

He only hoped the damage wasn’t irreparable.

~*~*~*~

Stiles felt it, the moment it happened.

The teen was on all fours on the floor of their bedroom, watching them in the wall of mirrors that lined one of the shorter walls. Peter was above him, in his massive, black-furred alpha form, and his cock was buried all the way inside Stiles’ slick hole. Stiles was panting, eyes locked on the image they made. Him, pale and slender and _so delicate looking,_ pinned beneath the heat and strength and overwhelming _inhumaneness_ that was Peter in his shifted state. It was beautiful, and terrifying, and arousing. Stiles loved the way they looked. Loved that Peter had immediately agreed to give him this when he’d asked for it again, nearly three weeks after the first time the alpha had taken him this way; had _claimed him_ like this.

And it _was_ Stiles who had asked for this, not Peter. When he had, he’d seen the lust in Peter’s expression and felt the eagerness skittering along their bond, but Peter had still asked if he was sure. He had reassured Stiles that he didn’t _need_ this, and that Stiles was under no obligation or pressure to offer it. Stiles had just laughed and reminded Peter that he had come _twice_ during his claiming, then purred out a challenge daring Peter to do better this time.

Seeing as he’d already spilled himself over the carpeting twice and Peter was only just now knotting him, Stiles was fairly confident that Peter would wring a third orgasm from him before they were done, thus setting a new record. He wasn’t even surprised, because Peter had proven to be porn-star levels of amazing in bed and Stiles had no doubt that his claiming would have been far more lackluster - if not downright disappointing and/or painful - with anyone else.

As Peter’s knot swelled to its full size, locking them together properly even as he filled Stiles with his own release, Stiles sobbed at the increased pressure and the way it sent rippling waves of pleasure dancing along his nerves. His cock was hard, and leaking, and he knew he’d topple over that edge again at any second. He could have helped it along with a few quick strokes of his own hand, but Stiles didn’t want that. The first time, he had come on Peter’s monstrous cock alone, and he was determined that he would do so again. So instead Stiles swiveled his hips, pressing back in a filthy, circling sort of grind that made Peter’s knot tug at his rim and also pressed Peter’s swollen cock against all the best places inside of him.

Seconds later, as he let out a keening sort of wail, Stiles’ cock twitched and throbbed as he added to the mess already staining Peter’s plush carpeting.

As he shivered and did his best not to collapse since he was still tied to Peter, Stiles felt it. It was like all of these pieces he hadn't noticed were just _slightly_ out of place suddenly clicked into their proper positions. Like everything - absolutely _everything_ \- fit, just right, and made perfect sense, and he felt complete. Which was odd, because Stiles hadn't realized he didn’t feel whole until he suddenly _did._

Startled as he was, Stiles gasped. And then Peter was howling above him, the sound full of joy, and Stiles knew that Peter had felt it, too.

Their bond had _finally_ settled.

He heard a telltale cracking sound above him and went from feeling drowsy and satisfied to barking sharply. “Don’t you _dare_ shift back, Peter. I want to see how long it takes your knot to go down if you don’t change.”

When Peter froze above him, still in his alpha form, Stiles added in a softer, huskier tone. “I want to stay full of you for as long as I can. Please.”

Whuffing out an agreement, Peter’s long tongue slid over the place on Stiles’ shoulder where the alpha’s human teeth had left a faint scar. Stiles could have sworn it tingled, and he was okay with that. Just like he was okay with the overwhelming aftershocks of pleasure that rocked his body as Peter shifted their positions, gently bearing Stiles down onto the carpet, away from the wet spot he’d created. Peter settled them so they were on their sides and curled his furry, heated body around Stiles’ trembling form, his hips twitching every so often in a way Stiles was fairly sure was completely involuntary.

And as the pleasurable little zings racing through him continued to build, Stiles decided Peter could probably edge their record up to _four_ , provided he stayed shifted long enough. At least, Stiles really hoped he could. Stiles let himself fall into the sensations, feeling safe and loved and like he was - in that moment - precisely where he had always been meant to be.

Stiles decided it was, without a doubt, the _best_ feeling in the world.

~*~*~*~

The party to celebrate their _‘marriage’_ \- a marriage that was, at least on paper, fully legally binding, though Stiles didn’t ask how since they’d never actually _gotten_ married - was held just a few days before Christmas. Stiles had been back at school for a month by then, with no ill effects now that their bond was fully settled. The whole town had more than accepted the eccentricity that had the patriarch of their founding family marrying a not-quite seventeen year old boy who talked too much and had too many piercings, who also just happened to be the son of the local sheriff.

As people had filtered into the party - all decked out in Christmas-y, wintery finery and all espousing congratulations and well-wishes to the happy couple - Stiles had muttered under his breath about _Sunnydale Syndrome._ Peter had pinched his ass, making Stiles yelp and swat at him a little more forcefully than could be called _playful._ Amused onlookers smiled fondly and murmured about _newlyweds,_ while Stiles scolded the alpha on appropriate behavior in public, though they both knew there was little force behind the words.

Peter was incorrigible, and that was just how Stiles liked him.

To officially kick the party off, Peter led Stiles in a dance. A waltz, which he’d spent weeks teaching Stiles how to do properly, never once getting annoyed with Stiles’ tendency to trip over nothing the second he thought about what he was doing too hard. Instead, he teased Stiles the whole time, murmuring heated praise into his mate’s ear and pressing small kisses to the teen’s mole-dotted cheek and jaw. The distraction was enough to keep Stiles out of his own head, which let them glide through the dance with an effortless ease that had many of those watching sighing wistfully. They were a _very_ dashing sort of couple, really. The sort one read about in fairytales and storybooks.

And while Stiles had been a little annoyed at the idea of parading themselves around for the entire town to gawk at, the truth was that by the end of the night, he was glad they’d done it. Because no one who had seen the two of them together over the course of the evening could possibly deny that they were meant to be together. They had the perfect sort of love; the kind other people could _feel_ the second they looked at one another; so obvious it was impossible to miss. It was strong, and true, and every single person in Beacon Hills knew that Peter Hale and Stiles Stilinski would be together until their dying days.

As Stiles curled up in Peter’s arms later that night, it was closer to morning than he would have preferred and he was grateful they had nowhere to be the next day, meaning they’d be able to sleep in. Peter fell asleep first, and Stiles rested his head on the alpha’s chest, right above his heart, listening to the sound of its steady beating. And he knew, with absolute certainty, that Peter’s heart was beating _for him,_ just as his now beat for Peter. He closed his eyes, relishing the way their heartbeats synced up, even and strong and perfectly timed.

As he slowly drifted off to sleep, he thought of his mother’s warnings, back when he was a child and far too young to properly understand them.

_“Don’t play in the forest, Mścisław. The wolves live there, with their burning eyes and sharp claws and hungry mouths full of fierce teeth. Everything in that place belongs to them and if you don’t take care - if you’re not protected at all times - you will, too. Stay out of the woods, little fawn, or a wolf will claim you for its own.”_

Stiles fell asleep with a smile on his lips, thinking that his mother had been right all along. He had gone into the woods alone, and a wolf had claimed him for his own.

He had never been happier.

_**~ The End ~** _

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**Author's Note:**

> So, there are a couple of loose-ends in this fic. Like...Noah's answer regarding Peter's offer of the bite. And Satomi's offered Mating-Gift. I'm aware. But, this story is getting a sequel of sorts so I imagine those will be answered in that fic, and - if not - I'll be happy to tell everyone how it plays out after that.
> 
> Technically the sequel is more of a companion-piece as it's going to be a bit strange. But I'm very excited to write it - _after_ the holidays - and I hope everyone will enjoy it.
> 
> Remember, comments are love and I do love getting them. ❤️
> 
> ~ Sly
> 
> P.S. - I completely forgot when I initially posted this, but one of my lovely pre-readers - twistedamusement13 - created a lovely image for me, for this fic. So it's now been added to the end of the fic. ❤️


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